


I Heart Derry

by Loneredballoon



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Content, Angst and Romance, Comedy of Errors, Drama, Fluff, M/M, Sexual Situations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-01-06 12:37:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 48,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12211449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loneredballoon/pseuds/Loneredballoon
Summary: Reddie. Set in 1994, 5 years (and 2 months) after the incident in the sewers took place. All of the memories the Losers had about the monster have disappeared (canon). This is my own interpretation from the book, with some allusions to the 2017 movie.Rated E for drug use (marijuana), underage drinking, explicit language, adult themes and content, sexual situations. The characters are not under the age of 18. Please, if you could, take a moment to read the post below- I urge you.(x)**If you feel like you are not old enough/not mature enough to read this, then please don't**I'm not your parent, I'm not responsible for you, I'm not going to police what you do on the internet. This is rated Explicit for a reason.(x)(This will further explain the E rating)





	1. Thursday. October 30, 1994

**Author's Note:**

> There's a mini playlist on Spotify under the name: I HEART DERRY if you wanna have a listen while you read.[(x)](https://open.spotify.com/user/kaytayzombay/playlist/2uMIPaj7hABR5l53Ii33JA)

**August 1989**

_“Time to float…”_

_“Eddie!”  
_

_“Come on Eds, look at me...”  
_

_“I’m gonna snap your arm into place!”_  
  
_“Do not fuckin’ touch me!”_

* * *

 

**October 1994**

“Do not fuckin’ touch me.” Eddie Kaspbrak swatted away the hideous tangled mound creeping out of the plastic bag Richie Tozier was holding in front of him. “I’m not wearing a thrift store wig, and neither should you. Seriously, you attended 4th grade, correct? Ever consider lice?”

“Oh, come on Eds, we already agreed on being Wayne and Garth[1], so a wig it is, unless you have a hidden ability to grow a glorious mane in twenty-four hours.”

Richie grabbed the ratty brown wig from the bag; unceremoniously shaking it out, only slightly wincing at the amount of dust falling from it. “And judging by the lack of short and curlies on your balls, that’d be a fuckin’ miracle.”

“You’ve never-“ Eddie began to retort, and instead settled on denial. “Nope, I’m not even entertaining that.” The smaller boy shook his head and looked at the wig with great distain.

“God, what the fuck is this thing made out of anyway?” he asked, only briefly touching a strand with the very tips of his thumb and forefinger, regarding it as if it were diseased.

“Oh, you know, funny story, your mom was kind enough to donate her pubes to the cause.”

That earned Richie a slug in the arm.

* * *

It had been 5 years since their lives changed in the sewers under Derry; since they fought IT, not that any of the Losers much remembered what exactly went on. Occasionally, Richie would wake up in a cold sweat: a high-pitch giggle and Eddie’s screams echoing in his subconscious, but even the nightmares were becoming more infrequent. Thankfully.

If Eddie still suffered from the ghosts of their past, he kept quiet about it; along with Ben, Mike, Stan, and Bill. Shit, he hadn’t even heard all that much from Beverly since she moved down south to Portland[2], unless you count the odd phone call. They were still the Losers club, though. They still hung out at the arcade, saw movies at the Aladdin, and walked through the Barrens. The one thing they hadn't done was gone to an honest-to-god high school house party. 

Parties, speaking of, like the Halloween party Greta Keene, the pharmacist's daughter was hosting. The adults would all be congregating at Derry town hall for the more sophisticated Halloween debauchery, getting wasted out of glasses rather than plastic cups. The party at Greta's was open invitation, and that was honestly the only reason the Losers were thinking of attending; you couldn't get kicked out if everyone was invited.

Richie watched as Eddie used the end of his shoe to place one of Richie’s dirty shirts over the wigs that now lay abandoned on the floor. Richie made the sign of the cross with his hand. That got a snort out of Eddie.

“Ashes to ashes-“ He began “Dust to dust…”

At the word “dust” Eddie absentmindedly reached into his pocket to run a finger over his inhaler, an action that wasn’t lost on Richie, who merely adjusted his glasses and sniffed.

Not all of Eddie’s particular hypochondriac induced eccentricities had disappeared with time. Sure, he was well aware that his asthma was psychosomatic, a convenient lie his mother force-fed him to keep him by her side.

Sonia Kaspbrak wasn’t a bad person per se; she merely wanted to keep her son safe. Her husband, Eddie’s own father, had struggled with cancer for 3 long years before dying- a thin husk of the man he once was. She only wanted to spare Eddie the same agonizing fate, but at a price. There were some things Eddie just couldn’t shake. He still carried the inhaler out of habit, and occasionally had to stop himself from reaching into his since retired fanny pack whenever his watch alarm rang.

_Time to take your medicine Eddie…_

“Do we have to go?” Eddie asked.

Richie took pause and gave the boy a questioning look.

“I mean, we could just, I don’t know, stay here and watch the Nightmare on Elm street marathon and-“

“Eds-“ Richie interrupted. “This Halloween is gonna be different. We can’t exactly pass for trick-or-treating age anymore. Well… _I_ can’t.” Richie mused, running his fingers over the “beard” he was _trying_ to grow.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Yeah well your “beard”- he mocked, using air quotes, “looks like fruit mold, so there.”

Richie knew why the shorter boy had such an attitude. Greta Keene* was a grade A cunt. She was the one who had written LOSER on Eddie’s cast when he broke his arm falling from the second floor in 29 Neibolt Street those 5 years ago. Richie had concocted a nefarious plan to shit under her pillow when they got to the party, just as a final fuck you, but Eddie had kiboshed it.

Richie put a reassuring arm around Eddie’s shoulder and tutted. “Hey. Fuck her, right? It’s her house but that doesn’t mean with have to hang out with her, _right?_ And all our friends are gonna be there, _right?_ _"_

Eddie grimaced, but nodded in agreement.

“And besides..” Richie continued, this time putting on his best New York mobster impression, which, as much as Eddie hated to admit, was vastly improving. “If she so much as looks at you sideways, she'll be sleepin' with the fishes like Luca Brasi.[4]”

Try as he might to stifle it, Eddie laughed.

 _Got him,_ Richie thought proudly to himself.

“So…?” Richie prompted, devil horns ready. “Party on Wayne?”

Eddie rolled his eyes and sighed. “Party on, Garth…”

* * *

“You know, you’re really more of a Wayne, Rich.” Eddie half-shouted over the sound of the sink. He had tried to fight off the urge to wash his hands after touching that flea-ridden hairball, but succumbed anyway.

“Okay so, you wanna wear my glasses then?” Richie inquired rhetorically from the other side of the bathroom door. “It just makes sense Eds. Garth wears glasses; _I_ wear glasses. Wayne is a pretty brunette, _you’re_ a pretty brunette”

Eddie swung the door open for that one, just barely missing Richie’s face. 

He stalked back to taller man’s room, feeling… _strange_. No matter how much he knew Richie was joking, every time he said shit like that, it made Eddie’s head feel fuzzy. Every time Richie called him cute, every time he pulled Eddie close, or called him Eds, or _Eddie, my love._   _Did he actually mean those things?_ He didn’t do that to anyone else in the group, so why him?

Last November on Eddie’s birthday, Richie had given him a box, within a box, within 2 more boxes etc. and when the unwrapping was finally over, the final box contained a packet of anti-bacterial wipes. Eddie was crestfallen, and Richie couldn't stop laughing.

All the others had given him great gifts. Mike and Ben chipped in and got him _Spitz and Fisher’s Medico-Legal Investigations of Death and Diseases_ (basically the Bible for doctors and medical pathologists) Beverly had sent him a beautiful brown leather apothecary bag that Eddie uses currently as a backpack. Stan got him a legitimate calligraphy pen with changeable tips, and Bill followed it with a bound leather journal.

Eddie was looking forward to Richie’s gift most of all, though, seeing as the past few years yielded a really awesome collection of comics, candy (with a new toothbrush included-courtesy of Richie's dad) and admittedly funny talking birthday cards and other gag-gifts.

After the party had concluded that afternoon, and everyone said their goodbyes, Eddie headed up to his bedroom, perking up a bit when he noticed a cassette tape on his bed.

_Happy Birthday, Eds!_

_-Richie_

It was a mix tape. It was a _really good_  mix tape. It had Bowie, it had Prince, Queen, The Cure, The Smiths, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones…but there was one song, the last song as a matter of fact that was vastly different from the rest of them.

It was a secret track, hidden in the tape after about 2 minutes of silence, and 1 minute of an orchestral arrangement. Fools Rush In sung by Frank Sinatra. If Eddie hadn’t fallen asleep listening to it one night, he never would have noticed it was on there. 

Well that had done it. Eddie felt his heart drop and swell all at the same time. Richie was trying to tell him how he felt through the song and Eddie never would have dreamed in a million years…no…it was an old tape. Probably an old tape he recorded over. That wasn’t meant for him… 

Needless to say, Eddie never brought it up. Neither did Richie. Eddie, of course thanked him for the tape because it was perfect, and Richie laughed about how priceless Eddie’s face was when he opened up those wet-naps, but that was the last they spoke of it.

Ever since that day though, their friendship had shifted. They started hanging out more and more, Richie got more _handsy_ , and Eddie didn’t mind it. Of course they still quipped back and forth, more than ever, but now their digs had a far more, dare he say, flirtatious undertone?

Richie had come back into his room on Eddie’s tail. “You’re lucky that door didn’t hit me in the face, asshole.” Richie said. “It could have knocked me out…would’ve had to resuscitate me.” He made a few quick smooching noises, making Eddie’s eyes roll. 

“Personally I prefer using the good old fashioned bucket of water and a slap to the face method.” Eddie insisted, turning around quickly, hoping that his face wasn’t flushed.

“Whatever you say Dr. Howser[3].” Richie grumbled, flopping onto his bed.

* * *

 _How many hints do I have to drop?_ Richie thought to himself, hands resting behind his head, as he watched Eddie fish through the piles of clothes in the closet, searching in vain for the rest of their costumes.

Flirting was foreign to Richie. He only really knew how to make jokes, and even though he considered his mouth a gift, not everyone saw it that way.

He had made up his mind a long time ago…somewhere around puberty that he had a thing for Eddie Kaspbrak. A thing he tried to conceal, and even make “go away” by having his first kiss with some girl named Amelia in his theatre improv class instead of with Eddie like he really wanted. There were even a few mornings Richie woke up with a hard-on due to some very vivid dreams about macking with Eddie in the back of his car.

Whether that made him gay or what, he didn’t know, and he didn’t really care. He flew under the radar enough in school that nobody really gave a shit about anything Trashmouth Tozier did or said. He was a loser, a class clown, and “bad influence” according to Eddie’s mom, so gay really wasn’t the worst label.

“God, it smells like jizz and weed in here.” Richie was pulled out of his reverie. Eddie was plugging his nose and delicately sifting through the disaster that was Richie’s closet.

“Well how 'bout that, that’s exactly what your-“

“If you say anything else about my mother, I’m gonna rip off your dick and throw it in the woods.”

Richie shut his mouth with a smile. “Don't threaten me with a good time, Kaspbrak. I might just take you up on it.”

Eddie paused and looked at his friend, placidly. Without breaking eye contact, he walked over to Richie’s desk and reached out for the phone, fake dialing a mishmash of numbers on the pad.

“What are you doing?” Richie asked with a slight huff of laughter.

“I’m calling the police.” Eddie said, matter-of-factly. “Hello? Yes, I’d like to report a crazed lunatic trying to molest me. … Yes, I can give you a description. He’s about five-eleven…yeah a real gangly motherfucker. Oh and did I mention he’s ugly?”

“Bravo.” Richie slow clapped from his spot on the bed. “But I think you meant to say six foot with a huge dick, dashing good looks, and devilishly charming.”

Eddie snickered and hung up the phone. “Yeah, except this is Derry, Maine- not Fantasy Island.”

“Ouch.” Richie put his hand to his chest, pretending not-so pretending to be hurt. “ _Wounded._ You’re gonna give me a complex, Eds.”

Eddie looked at Richie with a glint in his eye. “Okay so maybe you’re not _completely_ unfortunate looking-slightly above average.”

Was that…flirting? Was Eddie really flirting with him?

Richie felt his heart beat start to speed up. “Did you find the _shirt_?” On the last word, his voice cracked, and Eddie laughed.

“No, I didn’t find the sh-IRT.” He teased.

Richie cleared his throat and shifted for only a moment before holding up the black crew-cut t-shirt, it was HIS organized chaos after all. “Here, it’s gonna be big but I’m pretty sure it’ll fit you if you tuck it in.”

Eddie took off his t-shirt and Richie _almost_ turned away. He was stuck in an awkward battle with his brain and his body of – _Do I look or not? Is looking creepy? Or is it more obvious if I look away. Oh shit, he’s been talking this whole time. Just nod your head. Just like that. Wait, he looks mad, shake your head. That’s better. You haven’t blinked this entire time and you look like a crazy person. Get it the FUCK together, Tozier!_

“Hey!” Eddie snapped his fingers in front of Richie’s face. “Look, I get that I’m _pretty_ and everything, but how does this look?” Eddie gestured to his upper body. The shirt was baggy, but overall with the wig and hat he would be a solid Wayne.

“Perfect…”

 

[1] Wayne’s World (1992)

[2] Portland, Maine (1h 55 min from Bangor/the real town Derry is based off on)

[3] Doogie Howser, M.D. (1989-1992)

[4] The Godfather (1972)   
  
* Greta Bowie (Greta Keene is from the movie. It was just more convenient)


	2. Friday. October 31, 1994

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Use of a homophobic slur.

“If you wanted to kiss me, you should have asked…”

“I’m not that eloquent…”

“Richie Tozier, not eloquent? Surely you can’t be serious?”

“I am serious.” Richie confirmed. “And don’t call me Shirley.” _Fuck, really? An Airplane quote?_ His nerves were really getting the better of him. Richie was mentally kicking himself but Eddie only smiled.

“So, I can?” Richie asked, hopefully. “You’re not gonna stop me half-way through and tell me how much bacteria is in the human mouth because I really-“

Eddie leans in and grabs a hold of Richie’s face ceasing his rambling, looking at him fondly before finally coming closer, to the point where their lips are almost touching. “Richie…”

“Yeah?” Richie croaked, feeling the oxygen quickly deplete from his brain. Every hair on his body is standing up. His breath is hot and he hopes to God it doesn’t smell like cigarettes. Eddie’s breath smells like mint tooth paste and his lips are smooth. _He’s so close to my face..._

“Richie…”

“Yeah…?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

* * *

 

 **6:00 AM**  

“Fuck...” Richie groaned and slammed his hand on the alarm clock, half tempted to toss it out the window and laugh as it shattered into a million tiny pieces. “This can’t keep happening.” He said groggily to himself, reaching over to the nightstand for his glasses. _This is fucking killing me. Even dream me has blue balls._  Speaking of which…

Richie looked down and confirmed his suspicions. What would Eddie think if he knew that Richie had dreams about him? _Oh yeah, Eds, I totally have dreams about us boning all the time, but don’t worry; I only jerk it afterwards because I care. Gimme a fuckin’ break._

Of course it wasn’t just about sex; he did make the guy a mix tape, after all. He had spent weeks on it finding just the right music to strike all the right chords in Eddie’s high-strung heart only to have the kid say absolutely fuck-all about it. Eddie said he had loved it; it was the best tape he had in his collection…but that was it. Maybe he didn’t find the Sinatra song? That was supposed to be the crescendo, ya know? The big: “Hey, I’m sorta kinda in love with you!”

Sorta kinda…more like, completely.

He got up and walked to the bathroom, holding himself lest, god forbid, he ran into his mom or sister. Looking in the mirror, his reflection showed a desperate man; a desperate man with an enormous crush on his best friend, and little to no verbal skills to vocalize it.

He turned the water on as cold as he could stand, and when that didn’t solve his “problem” he opted to take care of himself, thinking about _you guessed it_  the entire time.

 _Say it did happen? Say we did kiss and he maybe gave me a handy or something…would he be able to? He’s the most squeamish guy I know. Probably doesn’t even jerk himself off…just reasons with his boner. Wills it away._ Richie laughed at that, toweling himself off by the sink and squeezing toothpaste directly into mouth.

He brushed a good 3 times, the idea of kissing Eddie replaying in his mind. If he ever did get the opportunity, he would want his mouth as clean as possible…for Eddie. _You really think it’s gonna happen? Dream big, trashmouth._

* * *

Eddie stood at the end of his driveway, looking around his neighborhood. The air was crisp and cool. The trees hadn’t been green for the better half of the month. Maine got cold so fast, but Eddie was sweating. He was wearing a decent amount of layers.

 _“Eddie, the weather is supposed to be chilly today so I want you to bundle up.”_ His mother really hadn’t changed. It was Halloween and theirs was the only house without a pumpkin on the porch. Pumpkin carving involved sharp objects, and on top of that, rotting pumpkins bring in vermin, which bring in disease. Eddie wasn’t expressly forbidden from carving a pumpkin, he was 18 years old after all; but it was still his mother’s house and he needed to respect her wishes. 

Just when he was starting to get antsy about the time, Richie pulled up to the curb in his 1980 VW Rabbit that smelled like cigarettes and low standards. “Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns and Roses was playing, much louder than need be for 7:00 in the morning. Richie was singing and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

Eddie opened the passenger door, expecting the usual trash to spill out onto the pavement and was met with…nothing? No weird smells either. The car was clean. The smaller man sat down and adjusted his bag on his lap before looking at Richie who was still singing.

“Wouldn’t ya know…there’s a floor in here.” Eddie was genuinely impressed. “And you’ve combed your hair, steppin it up, Rich. You’re steppin it up.”

“I put my pants on all by myself, too.” Richie pulled away from the curb, turning the volume up louder out of mild spite.

He maintained a relatively tame speed on the way to school. As much as he messed around with Eddie, he hated seeing him upset, or worse: scared. He took care to slow to a creep over the speed bumps and actually drive with both hands. _10 and 2, you fucking asshole!_

* * *

They arrived about 10 minutes before the first bell and the other Losers were standing by the flag pole. Bill put up a hand, signaling a hello. 

“I say my good lads, what a mah-velous morning. You lot are looking knackered. Burning the midnight oil, are we?” Richie was trying on a new voice for size; a step up from Tootles the wee British lad of his youth. He sounded like James Mason, if James Mason had a mouth full of peanut butter.

“We were studying for B-Bio.” Bill answered, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Stan, Mike, and Ben nodded in resounded exhaustion.

“I thought the test wasn’t until tomorrow.” Richie stated, suddenly panic-stricken.

“Tomorrow is Saturday, stupid.” Mike said, shaking his head. (October 31st, 1994 was actually on a Monday, but Friday’s are best for parties. SUE ME.)

“Oh fuck!” Richie yelled. “How long have you known about this? Did YOU know about this?” Richie turned and pointed at Eddie who threw his hands up in innocence. “Dumbass, I’m in Chemistry, not Bio. How am I supposed to keep track of YOUR shit?”

Richie looked like he was going to throw up but steadied himself long enough to say “Stan-”

“No.” Stan cut him off.

“Come on, man!”

“No! I’m not letting you cheat.”

Richie sighed, looking over at Ben who mouthed the words “I’ve got ya” to which Richie winked.

“Don’t think I didn’t see that.” Stan said, shaking his head. Bill and Mike laughed mid-yawn.

Eddie walked over to Mike and asked “So, what are you dressing up as tonight?” in regards to Greta’s Halloween party.

“I can’t make it.” Mike said, slumping a little as he did. “It’s just me and my mom,[1] and I wanted to give her a break from passing out candy, plus I’m dead set on catching the piece of shit that teepee’s our house every year.”

“You guys talking about the party?” Ben asked.

“Yeah! Eds and I are going as Wayne and Garth. Schwing!” Richie added the last bit with the pelvic thrust for comedic effect, which had no reaction from the group. Richie would never admit it, but he got bitter when he was being ignored and opted for a little harmless jab. “So what are you gonna be for Halloween, Ben? Pregnant?”

“Beep Beep Richie.” Ben couldn’t help but laugh. He had lost a pretty significant amount of weight after going out for track, but if Richie stopped telling fat jokes he’d have to come up with all new material. It was all in good fun though. “I’m probably not going, to be honest.”

“Me neither.” Said Bill. “Stan and I were gonna watch that Nn-Nightmare on Elm Street marathon.”

Bill’s stutter really was improving. Sometimes if he got really stuck on a word, he would start speaking in French and his stutter would completely leave him. As of now he was still having trouble with t’s, n’s, m’s and y’s, nouns and names were still worse. 

Richie looked at everyone with narrow eyes. “Now that is just sad. Where is your holiday spirit!” The bell for first period began to ring, and all the boys turned tail to head inside, but Richie caught Bill by the arm and had him hang back. Eddie’s head was hung, but he was trying not to look too anxious and walked on.

“Hey Big Bill….” Richie said, in a voice much softer than Bill thought capable. “Do you think you could do me a solid and just come to the fuckin party tonight?”

“I’m n-not really up for partying Richie, we had a long n-nnight.”

“I know.” Richie said, putting a hand on Bill’s shoulder. “I know, it’s just that I promised Eddie you guys would be there. I just…don’t want him to be uncomfortable." 

Bill smiled a knowing smile that Richie didn’t quite catch. “Y-You should still go. He likes spending t-time with you.” Richie raised an eyebrow and Bill continued. “Mm-maybe they’ll even play seven minutes in heaven.” Bill patted Richie on the back and walked on, leaving him to stand there slack jawed and wondering when he became so obvious.

* * *

After the Bio exam, to which Richie was confident Ben had earned them both a solid B-, he took his time on his “bathroom break” to wander the halls, peaking into classrooms and generally wasting time. This had been his third trip to the bathroom in an hour, not that his History teacher cared. She was just glad to get him out of her classroom to be perfectly honest.

He stopped in front of the glass door of room 302, where Eddie was listening to the English teacher talk about Hemmingway. Richie tapped soundlessly on the glass and waved at Eddie who glared at him and mouthed the words “Piss off.” Richie shook his head and put up a finger in a “Hey, watch this” gesture. He pressed his face to the glass, ballooning out his cheeks and leaving a slimy residue behind. When that was done he pressed a finger to the side of the doorframe and began slowly crouching down to the floor, pretending he was on a descending elevator.

Eddie put his fingers to his temples, massaging a headache, but huffed out a quiet laugh in spite of himself. _God, what a fucking goon._ He thought.

He honestly did look forward to Richie’s little visits. The older of the two would waltz by his classrooms a couple times a week and put on little shows before the teachers became all the wiser and threatened to give him detention. It made the school day a little more bearable. Richie made everything a little more bearable. Sure there were times when Eddie would love nothing more than to strangle his best friend, but he always made up for it. Ever since they were kids, Richie always looked out for Eddie. He knew exactly how to put him at ease with a touch, or a look, or with words. They were a duo within the Losers club, and it made Eddie happy. Richie made Eddie happy 

"Mister Tozier, unless you want to read from the following passage; I suggest you head back to class. You’ll see Mister Kaspbrak at lunch.” Laughter quietly tittered throughout the classroom and Eddie slid down in his seat, his ears turning pink.

Eddie tuned out his whispering classmates who were snickering and gossiping, and he _knew_ he heard the word “Faggot” but he chose to ignore it. A reaction would only earn him regret and a physical altercation.

Granted it wasn’t so bad at Derry High School since Henry Bowers had been locked up in Juniper Hills Mental Asylum for the last few years.

_They had pulled him out of the sewers; so shaken his hair had turned white. He was muttering about a bright light and how he had “killed them all.” Naturally the police took this as a confession and pinned the murders of Betty Ripsom, Eddie Corcoran, Patrick Hockstetter, Victor Criss, Belch Huggins, and Bill’s brother Georgie on him._

He had made it to senior year without so much as a first kiss from a boy **or** a girl. Besides Beverly, Eddie hadn’t really noticed any girls, or even really regarded them as being base level attractive. Bev was otherworldly with her beauty, but Eddie’s love for her was more admiration than anything else. She was the glue.

Whenever anyone would talk about celebrity crushes the first person Eddie thought about was, oddly enough, Tim Curry from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Richie would always say his was Susan Sarandon, but Eddie knew that Richie also had a thing for Barry Bostwick: the actor who played Brad. That declaration came after a drunken midnight screening. Richie had snuck in a bottle of grape flavored MD 20/20 and spent the entire time heckling the people acting out the movie in the front, and making side comments to Eddie like:

* * *

 

“I get why Dr. Frank would fuck Brad. I’d fuck Brad. I’d definitely fuck Brad.”

Richie was slurring his words, and Eddie couldn’t help but smirk. He wasn’t expecting Richie to be such a lightweight.

The smaller boy let Richie use him as a crutch on the walk home and Richie just kept drunkenly singing “Touch-a touch-a touch-a touch meee...I wanna be _dirty_ …” to which Eddie responded “Hard pass, I don’t wanna catch anything. 

“Eds…” Richie croaked out, taking a seat on a nearby bench. He previously had taken a tumble on the sidewalk and Eddie was having a hard time keeping him upright. Eddie sat down next to him with a huff and gave him a stern look. “If you’re gonna puke, tell me.”

“I’m not gonna puke.”

“If you puke on me, I swear to god I will drown you in the quarry.”

“Eds…I have something to tell you.”

Eddie rose an eyebrow and leaned in a little closer to his drunken friend. “What is it?”

“I really love…” Richie began and Eddie felt his breath hitch in his throat.

“…the skillful way…you beat the other girls to the bride’s bouquet.”[2] Richie finished, bursting into a fit of low chuckles, and Eddie rolled his eyes so hard he swore he strained his optic nerves. He stood up and grabbed both of Richie’s arms, heaving him to his feet and demanded they continue walking.

“I’m taking you home, I really don’t feel like babysitting a drunken moron.”

“Call me baby again.” Richie purred sleepily.

They made it the 4 blocks to Richie’s house on foot. Eddie would have driven them back in Richie's car, but felt even being in close proximity to alcohol would impair his ability to drive. He hustled Richie up the stairs and threw him onto the bed. Richie took off his glasses and tossed them onto the nightstand, looking at Eddie, and smiling dreamily, reaching out to touch the boy’s face. “Wow…Eds…”

Before Eddie could so much as blush, Richie started laughing. “You’re really fuckin’ blurry, haha...”[3]

  
“Alright Casanova, time for bed. Lift up your arms.”

Richie obeyed and let Eddie undress him. Eddie really couldn’t help himself from looking at Richie’s body. He was tall, and skinny, and _hairy_ , but that still made something stir in Eddie’s guts, sending signals to his dick, and his heart, and his brain all at once; all of them shouting in unison: “ _Yup! That's the stuff! Kill me now!"_

He threw the covers over Richie before he could stare any longer. He placed his hand in Richie’s thick hair and sighed. “Goodnight, asshole.” The drunken bum had his eyes closed and was breathing softly, starting to snore. “Damn it-Janet-Eddie…I love you.”[4]

 

[1] Following the book back story of Mike. His father died of cancer, it’s just him and his mom at this point.

[2] Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975)

[3] Credit for this joke goes to spiduhman.tumblr.com

[4] Rocky Horror Picture Show “Damnit, Janet, I love you.”


	3. Friday. October 31, 1994 cont.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Drug use (marijuana), Underage drinking

**_“_ ** _Hey Eds, what’s the difference between a hooker and an onion?”_

_“Jesus…what?”_

_“I didn’t cry when I cut up the hooker.”_

_“Nice Rich, that’s a real knee slapper…”_

“ _One more, one more. What do you call children born in whorehouses?”_

_“I hate everything about you.”_

_“BROTHEL sprouts.”_

* * *

“That is so not funny.” Eddie insisted, looking at himself in the mirror, fully costumed. Richie was wheezing at this point, using his free hand to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes.

“Would you at least open the window, shithead? I can _feel_ myself getting contact high.” Eddie put his shirt collar up over his nose, and watched Richie put the freshly lit joint between his teeth and open the window, wafting the smoke outside. “My mother will have an aneurism if I come home tomorrow smelling like pot.”

Richie snorted, trying to hold in the smoke and talk at the same time. “Like she hasn’t heard of the miracles of wheelchair weed.[1] This shit cures cancer, mark my words.” The taller boy held out the joint to his friend. “Besides…we have until tomorrow for the smell to disappear. How’s she gonna know if you have the littlest, tiniest hit?”

Eddie sighed and looked around like he was on camera and his mother, along with the cops would come bursting in any minute. “God, I feel like this is a bad afterschool special about peer pressure.”

Richie looked affronted.

“I would _never_  pressure you, I’m just saying this will do wonders for your nerves. You’re already wigged out and we aren’t even at the party yet. Heh…wigged out, get it?” He grinned, pointing between his ratted blonde wig and Eddie’s shoulder length brown one.

"What if I gave you a shot gun?” Richie offered, waiting on baited breath for the slightest possibility Eddie would say yes. Eddie was 90% sure Richie wasn’t talking about a gun, but raised his eyebrow in curiosity. “How does that go again?”

Eddie had never had anything stronger than aspirin on his own, but he was with Richie, _who he trusted_ , and something to take the edge off the anticipation he was feeling for this stupid fucking party would be nice…

And besides…it wasn’t cigarettes…

Richie grinned and sat down on the bed, patting the spot next to him. “One of two ways, I flip the joint so the cherry is in my mouth and I blow it into your mouth through the end of the paper.”

“Pass.” Eddie said almost immediately. I’m not putting my lips on that.” He gestured toward the spit-covered end.

“OR” Richie said, shrugging, “I can take a hit and just blow it straight into your mouth. No wet paper involved. Your choice, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Eddie contemplated this for a moment. The latter sounded an awful lot like kissing. Kissing without the spit or tongues. Kissing Richie. His head started to feel light so he just blurted out “Blow me. Er-blow it into my mouth…I…the second one.”

“Cute!” Richie pinched one of Eddie’s cheeks and was swatted away indignantly.

“You sure you want it, Eds?” Richie just wanted to make absolutely sure Eddie was okay with what was about to happen. Getting high, and getting in close proximity to Richie’s mouth, which Eddie always pointed out was filthier than a toilet bowl, literally and figuratively. This was Eddie’s first time getting high and Richie was sort of grateful he could be the one to give it to him, and flattered that Eddie trusted him.

Eddie nodded and closed his eyes. “Just do it before I change my mind.” 

Richie took a small hit and leaned in, taking a moment to look at Eddie’s face. His hand rested gently on the smaller man’s smooth cheek, and he used his calloused thumb to part Eddie’s lips. Slowly, he leaned in to the point where their lips were almost touching, and blew.

* * *

“See? That wasn’t so bad now was it?” Richie was lying down on the bed next to Eddie who, after a minor coughing fit and an accusation that Richie was trying to poison him, was feeling calm.

“I’mneverdoingthisagain…” Eddie said, almost all at once. He was calm, that much was true, but he felt like his head was a balloon, and that brought back some horrible nightmares; far away “memories” from the depths of his brain that didn’t make any sense.

Richie was so used to the feeling he hadn’t considered the effect it would have on Eddie. He vaguely remembered his first time getting high. It was some awful skunkweed his dad kept in his underwear drawer, and once he took his first puff he spent a good 20 minutes with his mouth to the spigot chugging water like a man who had spent weeks wandering in the desert. After that he locked himself in his room and sat on his bed in the fetal position until his Dad got home and grounded him.

Eddie felt a hand on his back, rubbing counterclockwise in small circles. It was soothing and put him at ease.

“I’m sorry. I won’t make you do that again.”

“No, it’s okay. Really.” Eddie turned around and, for no particular reason hugged Richie around the neck. “Besides, I wanted to…” Eddie pulled away and looked at his friend with a smile. “Just like your sister wants this _diiiick_. Got ya.”

Richie’s mouth dropped open, and he put his hand over his heart. “I’m…so proud right now.” Eddie did feel like patting himself on the back for that one.

* * *

For a split second during the whole shot gunning experience, Richie seriously considered just cutting his losses and kissing Eddie. Worst-case scenario, if he freaked out, it could easily be blamed on the close proximity and Richie’s limited depth perception. Unfortunately he hadn’t thought of it quickly enough. The whole invigorating experience was over as soon as it began and now they were back to being just pals.

They spent a good ten minutes lying on Richie’s disheveled bed, facing each other. Richie was having a hard time reading Eddie. For being his best friend it was damn near impossible to pinpoint what exactly the other guy was thinking. _Maybe he wouldn’t have stopped me._ The very thought made Richie sit up suddenly.

Eddie seemed mildly startled and sat up, his eyes following Richie to the door. He was rather enjoying the view just seconds ago, looking into Richie’s eyes. _God, that’s gay._ Eddie chided himself. “Where are you going?”

“I uh, gotta take a leak. Be ready to go when I get back.”

Eddie lay back down, looking around, surveying casa de Richie. It was…well it was filthy.

There were clothes everywhere, socks flung over every available surface. There were some posters on the walls, and tapes and vinyls without their jackets cluttered together on a bookshelf. He wasn’t exactly snooping, but Eddie couldn’t help himself from flopping over on the bed and sliding open the bedside drawer. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was planning on finding, but a list of songs, specifically the songs on Eddie’s favorite mix tape, was not one of them. At the very bottom, scratched out not once, but twice was Fools Rush In by Frank Sinatra.

Before he could cover his tracks, Richie walked back into the room, causing Eddie to drop the list onto the floor, and under the bed. Richie glanced down at the opened drawer and smirked. “So, did'ja find the condoms and porn?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest. “We should probably get going. The party started at nine and its already nine-thirty”

They headed down to the kitchen, and for a moment Richie paused to grab his keys only to have them swatted out of his hand.

“You’re joking, right?”

Richie looked at Eddie with narrow eyes and Eddie continued, dropping his voice so Mr. and Mrs. Tozier wouldn’t overhear. “We’re stoned, and I know you’re going to drink…so what makes you think ANY OF THAT is a good idea?” He gestured to the fallen keys with urgency. “Do you wanna be a drunk driving statistic, cause that’s what you’re gonna get.”

Richie nodded. There really wasn’t any point in putting up an argument. Eddie was right, as always. “You’re right Eds, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Oh well there’s a new concept.”

* * *

It wasn’t too far of a walk to the Keene residence. A walk down Palmer Ln, down Witcham St. (passed Bill's house) and onto West Broadway. The party was going strong. Music filled the air and all the kids from school were bursting at the seams of the modest two-story home. Eddie thought modest, but in reality they were the nicest houses in Derry. Rich families lived on West Broadway.

Richie let out whistle. He really wasn’t anticipating quite this many people and if _he_ was feeling nervous then Eddie was done for.

“Alright!” Richie exclaimed, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “Ready to get in there and raise some hell?” He was trying his best to act excited for Eddie’s sake. They were both hoping beyond all hell that Stan, Ben, Bill and Mike would be there, but realistically resigned themselves to be disappointed and on their own. There was no common ground, just them, Losers lost in a sea of judgment and jungle juice.

 “I don’t feel so good.” Eddie said solemnly, shuffling his feet and taking his sweet ass time approaching the door with Richie next to him. He was half-tempted to hold the taller man's hand for comfort, but that definitely wouldn’t do him any favors in this environment.

Richie took a moment to stop Eddie, turning him so that he was looking at Richie’s face. “Hey. Let’s give it fifteen minutes. If you hate it, we dip out. No questions asked. You just say the word.”

Eddie nodded in agreement and took a deep breath. “Okay.”

The party was in full swing and with everyone in costume it was tough to tell who was who. A couple people yelled a greeting in their general direction, to which Richie acknowledged with a nod. _These people have no idea who the fuck we are, do they…-_ but Eddie was too busy looking for their friends to pay attention to anyone.

The house was dark, the music was loud, and with Eddie’s heightened senses, he was starting to feel worse and worse by the minute. “Insane in the Brain” by Cyprus Hill was playing, and if either of them needed any indication that they had crossed over enemy lines, this was it.

They stood by the stairs for a good while and Richie tried to make jokes and witty observations in a hope lighten the mood and put Eddie at ease, but it was impossible to hear anything over the music. Richie’s heart sank when he realized Eddie wasn’t surveying the party so much as he was looking for his friends; friends that wouldn’t be there.

Eddie had finally had enough and walked away briskly, heading towards the kitchen. Richie was trying to keep up with Eddie’s pace, the smaller of the two darting between couples making out, and shots being taken. “Whoa, Eds hold up!”

Eddie had taken off his hat and wig and threw them onto the table on top of a tray of jello shots. Richie followed suit, holding the bulk of his costume in one hand and placing his other hand gently on Eddie’s back. “Hey, I almost lost you back there.”

“What?” Eddie yelled, turning around with a red plastic cup in his hand. It was filled to the brim with a mysterious mixture being served in a giant punch bowl. The music was deafening.

“I said- _ow_ \- I said I almost lost you in there.” Someone had stepped on the taller boys foot, trying to hustle him out of the way. Eddie didn’t respond and downed the contents of the cup with an impressive poker face. Richie guessed years of downing various medications had made Eddie immune to the taste of what basically amounted to rubbing alcohol and sugar. Eddie went back for another pour and Richie grabbed the cup from his hand. “Whoa, Eds, take it easy, we just got here.”

The smaller man took the cup back from Richie, _snatched it back_ , was more like it.

“They’re not coming, are they…” Eddie said, knowing he was asking a rhetorical question. Richie sighed and put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

“No. I’m sorry. I just wanted to show you a good time, you know?”

“ _Hah!_ I’m have a fucking _great_ time!” Eddie snapped. “I’m totally not having a panic attack at all! I love listening to awful music and being within two inches of someone’s B.O.- get out of my way!”

Someone dressed as a bad birthday clown was blocking Eddie’s path, and Richie had to be quick to catch up, wincing as the shorter of the two shoved the clown to the side.

_"Hey what the fuck, dude!"_

Richie had enough. He yanked his irate friend back by his shirt collar. “Hey!” He said, a little more aggressively than he intended. Eddie spilled some of his drink on his shirt and huffed, pounding the rest of it down in a few quick gulps.

“Seriously!” Richie insisted. “You’re already getting drunk and we’ve only been here for like- an hour. You _need_ to take it easy.”

Eddie scoffed, throwing his empty cup on the ground. “What’s the matter, Trashmouth? Not havin’ a good time? Not gettin’ any chucks? How about you go into the kitchen and grab yourself a drink, shut the fuck up, and get on my _fucking_ level.”

The older boy was taken aback, but couldn’t help himself from escalating the situation. The atmosphere was starting to feel more nefarious and claustrophobic by the minute. He just wanted Eddie and him to have fun. All he wanted was for that little shit to be happy, and Richie was fucking it all up as usual, like he always did. _Fuck it_.

“Look, I would love to have fun, but I can’t when I’m too busy taking care of your stupid ass.”

“Well, there it is!” Eddie spat. “I knew this was fucking bullshit. I knew you were just hanging out with me because you pitied me, just like everyone else. When I’m not around to be your fucking emotional punching bag, I’m being a burden!”

"Where the fuck did that come from!? What are you talking about?"

People were starting to stare at their little scene, some didn’t give two shits, but a good majority started jeering and yelling stupid shit like. _“Yeah what he said!” “Kick his ass!”_

Richie immediately regretted his phrasing, but before he could think of how to fix this dumpster fire of a fight, Eddie was stalking out of sight and up the stairs.

* * *

_Stupid! You’re so fucking stupid! He doesn’t love you._ Eddie had locked himself in the upstairs bathroom. He only briefly glanced into the mirror and was disgusted to see that he had started crying. Slumping down on the ground, Eddie wiped the tears from his cheeks and focused on getting his breathing to a normal rate. Drinking that much that fast was a terrible idea and he was starting to lose his bearings. Things were becoming less clear and all his movement started to slow.

“Eds! Eddie! Please open the door…”

“Fuck off.”

“No, I’m not going anywhere. Please, can we just talk?”

Richie was about to give up and walk back downstairs when the door slowly swung open, revealing a tear-streaked face that was turning red from the alcohol. “…Well?” Eddie motioned around him. “Come in and talk.”

The bathroom was small and cramped and there wasn’t more than an inch of space between the two of them after the door was closed. Richie took a beat to center his thoughts before continuing.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie. I just wanted us to have a good time together, do something we haven’t done before. I know I said the guys would be here, and that’s my fault. I should have told you, but would you have come with me otherwise?”

Eddie didn’t answer, and instead just opted to shrug.

Richie could only sigh, running his palms over his face and mumbling, “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Obviously not, Richie. Spit it out.” 

Seeing Eddie like this was unbearable. This was the last thing he wanted. He didn’t want to do it this way, but he was left with no other choice.

“I wanted to go out with you. I love spending time with you Eds…don’t you understand that?” He was trying his damnedest to keep his voice from cracking, and generally keep his emotions in check, but it wasn’t working.

“I’m fucking crazy about you…I made you that mix tape, thinking maybe you’d get the hint-but...I guess I’ll have to show you.”

It happened so suddenly; Eddie barely had time to process what was going on. Richie had his hands on either side of Eddie's face and was kissing him. Eddie felt lightheaded and closed his eyes; afraid he might fall over. This wasn’t happening. This…was what he wanted more than anything in the world. He wished he could replay this moment over and over again. Richie’s lips were so chapped but sweet and intoxicating.

Richie pulled away, looking desperate and terrified, two expressions Eddie had only seen once before back when they were kids in the sewer. _In the sewer?_

“Jesus fuck, Eddie. Please say something.”

He couldn’t. His throat burned and he felt like his mouth was filled with cotton. The room was spinning and Richie was becoming a blur. All he wanted to do was reciprocate his own feelings but he couldn’t make the words form. He just stood there like an idiot and stared. This was only in his head. This wasn’t real. The only thing he could think to do was to reach into his pocket and slowly pull out his inhaler.

“This…this isn’t real.” He whispered.

“Well…there _that_ is.” Richie croaked, turning tail and walking-no, running down the hallway and down the stairs, skipping every other step on the way down, covering half of his face with his shirtsleeve. He needed to leave. He needed to leave now. He didn’t want to leave Eddie alone but Richie couldn’t face him after that, not after putting himself out there only to be rejected. _Stupid, so fucking stupid. I'm so fucking..._

No sooner had his hand touched the doorknob did he see Bill; without a costume and looking concerned.

“Hey, Richie! W-whoa are you okay? Where’s E-“

“He’s upstairs. And by the way, fuck you. I’m out.” 

Richie shoved Bill out of the way and jumped from the porch stairs, breaking into a run as soon as his feet touched the ground. He ran until his throat burned and feet ached. All Bill could do was call after him-his voice carrying only so far.

 

[1] Medical marijuana


	4. Friday-Sunday Nov. 2, 1994

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm still writing Chapter 5, but hopefully I'll have it up this weekend.
> 
> **UPDATE: Small edit. It's only Bill and Mrs. Denbrough. Bill's dad dies of lung cancer when Bill is 17. (Been reading through the book with a fine toothed comb)

“R-Richie!” Bill was hanging off the side of the porch, holding onto the banister with one hand. He was tempted to chase after his friend, but instead just called out “Wait, who’s taking Eddie home!” Bill then sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, nodding rapidly and saying “M-me…obviously its me…”

It wasn’t like Richie to leave Eddie behind, so something serious must have happened. Bill felt a little sick to his stomach. _Maybe telling him to take Eddie to the party wasn’t such a good idea._ Eddie and Richie bickered all the time, but he honestly couldn’t remember the pair ever having a legitimate argument, especially not one that would cause Richie to leave-run away from the issue at that. Richie was never at a loss for words and would argue a point until he was blue in the face.

Bill sighed heavily and started into the house, immediately feeling guilty that he hadn’t shown up sooner; this place was a madhouse. Richie had said that Eddie was upstairs so Bill climbed the steps, but was halted behind a line of people.

“Hurry up, asshole! I have to pee!”

One guy was even pissing into the potted plant outside Mr. and Mrs. Keene’s bedroom.

Bill scooted in between the line of increasingly agitated partygoers and stood in front of the bathroom door.

“Hey! No cutting! Wait in line like everyone else, I don’t care how bad you have to shit.”

Bill put up a hand. “N-no sorry, my friend is in there. I’m gonna get him and take him home, h-h-he’s pretty s-sick.”

Nobody was happy about it, but they let the boy through anyway, adding that if he didn’t get his friend out of the bathroom in the next 2 minutes, then the group would chuck them _both_ out of the window.

Bill closed the door behind him and looked down to see poor Eddie slumped on the ground by the bathtub, sleeping. He crouched down and used some toilet paper to wipe the remaining moisture off his ruddy cheeks.

Eddie stirred and looked at Bill with a pained expression. “Bill…” He rasped. “I’m gonna be sick.”

* * *

Richie had finally stopped running about a mile from the house. He settled himself on the guardrail and dry-heaved, trying to catch his breath. If he spent half as much time running in Phys Ed as he did imitating the gym teacher he would be in great shape.

According to Richie’s watch, it was 11:40. There were still some kids milling around, but a good majority had gone home for the night because it was starting to drizzle. _We should have just bought some goddamn candy and watched the fucking Nightmarathon._ He thought, bitterly. _None of this shit would have happened._ What the fuck was he thinking?

Richie knew better than to make a move on someone when they were fucked up, and that definitely included loaded declarations of love and feelings and shit! Eddie didn’t even think it was real? What the fuck was that supposed to mean anyway? And _why_ didn’t Richie stick around to find out? And WHY wasn’t he back at the party, taking care of his best friend and making sure he was okay?

Now it was Richie’s turn to feel sick to his stomach. “Oh fuck, I left him there.” Richie put his hands through his hair and tugged. The pressure was a small relief. _He’s…not alone, Rich. He’s with Bill. Bill will take care of him. You can trust-_

“Like hell I can!” Richie shouted, causing a kid dressed as Batman to drop his candy pail.

“I CAN’T trust Bill, that loser told me do all this shit, this is HIS fucking fault!” Richie was gesturing towards the kid, who was now running up the stairs of his porch, jiggling the door handle in an attempt to distance himself from the sad, crazy man.

Richie stood in the middle of the street, letting the reality sink in. Eddie didn’t feel the same way. _Eddie doesn’t feel the same way. You can’t blame Bill, Trashmouth. You fucked this up all on your own. It’s your own goddamn fault you can’t ever be serious. So go home and fucking cry about it._ His breath hitched in his throat and the corners of his eyes started to sting.

“I am not…crying.” He said aloud, thinking maybe if he said it in a stern enough voice, his tear ducts would suck the moisture back up. The corners of Richie’s mouth started to twitch, and his breathing became shallow. “I’m not…fuck.” Two searing tears rolled lazily down his cheeks, pooling on the ground, joining the raindrops as they fell harder 

Richie cleared his throat aggressively and braced himself. He had had enough of his emotions for one night. Once more, he took off; running away from his problems as fast as his legs could carry him.

* * *

**10:27 AM**

Bill’s house was quiet that morning. The sky was overcast, and the only sounds came from Mrs. Denbrough watching the news while stirring her coffee in the living room.

_“American Eagle Flight 4184 crashed into a soybean field late last night, claiming the lives of all 68 passengers. The aircraft was flying from Indianapolis to Chicago when, due to severe ice conditions-“ **[1]**_

Bill had come upstairs every twenty or so minutes to check on Eddie who was still sleeping. He had driven them both home around midnight after Eddie had emptied his guts in the bathtub, missing the toilet entirely.

Breakfast was cold at this point, but Bill brought Eddie a plate anyway, setting it down as gently as he could on the desk. Bill really had tried not to wake him, but as soon as the plate hit the hard surface with a clatter, Eddie had shifted, sitting up and looking around, the realization of where he was becoming clearer with every blink of his eyes. 

“Morning.” Bill said.

Eddie turned his head sharply to look at the source of the voice, unclenching his jaw once he realized it was Bill. “Morning…what the hell happened?”

“You know, y-you’re the last person I would h-h-have expected to find sleeping in a b-bathroom.” He chuckled, holding the plate out to Eddie, but the boy only put his hand up and shook his head.

“Thanks but I’m good. I don’t wanna see it again.” Eddie grimaced and looked around the room once more. “Hey Bill…where’s Richie?”

Bill raised an eyebrow and sat down on the edge of his bed. “He’s at home, I’m p-pretty sure.” _He doesn’t remember?_ Bill thought to himself. “He l-left in a pretty big hurry when I got there…s-seemed really upset about something.”

Eddie frowned and removed the covers from his lower half. “About what?”

“Uh, about you I think.”

“Me?” Eddie pondered this for a moment, feeling his heart sink, and the anxiety start to set in. “We got into a fight? Oh, _shit_. We got into a fight.” The realization had hit Eddie like a truck. “I screamed at him and told him to shut the fuck up and locked myself in the bathroom.”

“Is that it?” Bill pried. Surely it wasn’t just that. Richie could handle being told to shut the fuck up. Hell, that was one of Eddie’s go-to phrases-Stan’s too, especially when it came to most of Richie’s anecdotes. “Are you s-sure that’s all that happened?”

“I don’t know…” Eddie admitted. Try as he might, he couldn’t make the rest of the night appear clearly in his mind. “I remember we got stoned, and then I started drinking, and I didn’t stop….” Bill could see Eddie trying to mentally map out his night. His eyes were closed and he was talking with his hands. “I locked myself in the bathroom and he tried to get me to come out…and-and…that’s it. That’s all I got.”

Eddie got to his feet and paced from the window to the edge of Bill’s bed. _Did he kiss me last night? Or did I dream that?_ It wouldn’t be the first time he had dreamed about sharing a kiss, and more, with Richie. If Richie had left the party as upset as Bill claimed, then obviously they hadn’t kissed. That didn’t make any sense.

“Do you think I could use the phone? I’m just gonna call him and make sure everything’s cool…”

“Y-Yeah, of course 

With every trill of the dial tone, Eddie became more and more anxious. Finally, on the fourth ring, Richie’s mom picked up.

“Hi Mrs. Tozier, It’s Eddie.”

“Oh hi, Eddie. You wanna talk to Richie?” She knew the routine. This was an everyday occurrence. If Eddie wasn’t over at her house with her son, then the two were on the phone, or down the road at the arcade. “You know, I thought you two were gonna come back together last night.”

Eddie cleared his throat, saying only “Yeah, well…you know…how it goes?”

Mrs. Tozier didn’t sound entirely convinced, but she wasn’t overly concerned either. She, like Eddie’s mom, wasn’t a bad mother, but unlike Mrs. Kaspbrak who was overbearing, Maggie Tozier was uninvolved. She just didn’t understand her son, or his humor, and spent most of her time focusing on Richie’s sister instead. “Mhm. One moment, dear.”

She put the phone to her chest and called up the stairs. “Richie? Eddie’s on the phone!” Pause. “Richie?” Nothing. “Ah, he’s got his music on.” She sighed. "He disconnected the phone in his room, now I gotta go get him..."

Eddie listened to the phone _clack_ on the foyer table, and the sound of Mrs. Tozier’s footsteps climbing the stairs in the distance. A few more minutes of silence, and Eddie perked up, hearing someone approach the phone. There was some murmuring he didn’t quite catch, followed finally by the sound of Richie’s voice on the other end.

“Hey.” Richie said flatly.

“Hey!” Eddie said, relieved he was hearing his friend once again. He really needed to clear up what happened last night, but decided first to try light small talk. "Why'd you unplug your phone?"

"I’m glad you’re alright." Richie said, bypassing the question entirely. "Bill take you home?”

Eddie thought Richie sounded...so different. Hollow. Granted, it was still early, and maybe his coffee hadn’t kicked in yet?

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m at his house. Listen. Did we- get into a fight last night?” Eddie anxiously twirled the cord around his finger and scrunched it up in his hand; wincing when Richie said yes: in fact they had.

“It’s not a big deal.” Richie said, languidly. “I deserved it. I made shit worse, so I get why you were pissed. I’m sorry.”

“No, dude. Don’t be sorry. I barely remember what happened anyway.” Eddie let out a small laugh, partially out of relief, but mostly out of nerves.

There was silence on the other end. 

“Hello?” Eddie said.

“I’m here.” Richie answered, again, sounding despondent, and Eddie was starting to get overwhelmed. He opted to tell a joke, and see if that did anything to lift Richie’s spirits.

“You uh, wanna hear something insane? I know you’re gonna laugh at this, you ready? So, last night, I was so fucked up, that I legitimately thought you had kissed me when we were fighting. Isn’t that crazy? Wouldn’t that be…just so weird?”

Again. Silence.

“W-wouldn’t that be…”

“Yeah, a real riot-Look, I got a lot going on today, do you think maybe we could talk later?” Richie’s response had left Eddie temporarily speechless. Since when did Richie have ANYTHING to do other than video games and talking to him?

“Uh…yeah, I guess? Are you sure you’re-”

“Alright, bye.”

_Click._

* * *

Richie put the phone back down on the receiver and spent some time staring at the tangled cord. He had wanted the conversation to be over as soon as it had begun. His mother hadn’t listened to him when he said he was “busy” and couldn’t talk.

His mom had only rolled her eyes and told him to move it, stating that she didn’t come all the way up here just to have Richie stay in his room, listening to “sad music.”

“What’s going on?” For once, she seemed concerned. “You and Eddie having a spat? Is that why he didn’t come home with you?”

“We’re fine, Ma. I’m just gonna go back up and finish my homework.” Richie said.

Maggie took the back of her hand and placed it on her son’s forehead and frowned. “Are you feeling alright, sweetheart? You look pale.”

“Hey, I gotta study hard so I can get into college and outta your hair, right?” Richie laughed and made finger guns in her direction, switching his demeanor on a dime.

He turned and bounded up the steps, slamming the door behind him and belly flopping onto his bed. He stretched out his arm to press rewind on his tape player. He had been listening to the Wish album by The Cure on repeat since last night; specifically the song _To Wish Impossible Things._ It originally seemed counter productive to listen to sad music when you were also feeling sad, but at least Robert Smith was always having a worse day, right?

He had been smoking a lot since yesterday, too: not weed, but cigarettes. He usually only smoked one a day during his unofficial breaks at school. It wasn’t that Richie was health conscious; it was more so because of Eddie. The lectures about how it was going to kill him, and how badly Richie stunk, made a pretty decent impact; not to mention the fact that Eddie’s dad had died of cancer. The latter made Richie feel like such a dick, so he promised he would cut back to one a day, and he never smoked around Eddie.

 _"No matter how much you squirm and dance, the last two drops go in your pants, and that's why there's so much cancer in the world, Eddie, my love."_  
  
_"The reason there's so much cancer in the world is because nerds like you and Beverly Marsh smoke cigarettes."_

He was planning on quitting for good until all of this happened. Now, as soon as one was out, another was being lit right after.

Still lying on his stomach, Richie reached under his bed to grab his stash box. He kept his pot and an emergency pack of Winstons inside. Ever since Bev had shared her smokes for Richie’s first puff, they had been his brand of choice.

His hands searched blindly for the box, finally finding it, flipping the top and savoring the heady scent as it filled his nose. He flipped the pack a few times, smacking the ends on his palm while he walked over to his window. He slid it up, making sure to use his baseball bat to keep it open. He had never played baseball, and wasn’t even one hundred percent sure where he had gotten the bat from in the first place.

He tore off the cellophane wrapping, and ripped the paper cover, admiring all the butt ends facing upwards in their neat little rows. Sometimes Richie swore that the act of preparing a pack was more addictive than the cigarettes themselves. He liked the routine. The final step was to turn his two lucky cigarettes upside down.

 _One for luck, and one to get lucky_ He thought to himself, scoffing. Since when had luck ever been on his side?

Sitting down on the sill, head resting on the jamb, he let his arm droop outside and swing idly. He had taken the screen out ages ago. Richie brought a cigarette to his lips and lit it. Inhale. Exhale. Better. His mouth started to water, and he leaned outside, spitting down into his front yard. He took another quick puff, realizing suddenly he was thinking about playing “Loogie “ with Eddie and the guys when they were kids.

_“It’s distance!”_

_“No, it’s mass! It’s always been mass…”_

_Jesus Christ, enough already…_ He thought, finishing his cigarette in a matter of minutes. He snuffed out the cherry on the sill and tossed the butt out the window. He was in the process of sliding the box back under the bed when something caught his attention: a slightly worn piece of paper. Richie flipped the paper over and as soon as he saw what it was he felt a familiar tightness in his chest. It was the list.

Music had always been a big part of Richie’s life. Ever since he was a kid, he knew the power that music could have over people. It could convey messages, evoke emotions, and bring people together. A single song could transport you back in time, the memory so vivid, so real, you could smell exactly how it smelled, and feel exactly how you felt.

All of those songs on that list meant something to Richie; because they were songs him and Eddie listened to together. Songs they sang (badly) in the car, belting every single word. Songs that made Richie think of Eddie and smile. The one imperative had been Fools Rush In. The Sinatra song was an oldie, but its placement in the mix tape was incredibly intentional. Ordinarily, a song like that would never make it into Richie's music collection, but he had grown up listening to that song, and had fallen in love with it.

It was special to his family in particular because it was generational; his grandparents had danced to it at their wedding, and his parents had danced to it at theirs. When that song came on, Richie would close his eyes, and just like that, he was 6 years old, sitting in the living room and watching his parents dance together, laughing, and holding each other close. It was the last time he saw them happy, _really_ happy. 

Not that he was thinking about marriage, he never particularly liked the idea, but sharing that song with Eddie was a leap of faith. It was heartfelt and honest; two things that Richie struggled with on a regular basis. He was a fool, that much was obvious, even truer still was that the day Richie met Eddie he knew they would be in each other’s lives forever. He couldn’t bring himself to use a word like soul mate.

_Just cause I like a dude doesn’t mean I gotta get all Oscar Wilde over here._

It was always Eddie, ever since day one. Eddie was funny, someone who not only could take but dish out snark and jokes with a wit that sometimes out-matched King Trashmouth himself. Eddie was kind, and caring, and was always looking out for Richie’s best interest. They were always together, always laughing, always comfortable. That was the reason this all hurt so much. Richie had confessed his feelings, kissed his best friend and not only did Eddie conveniently forget the whole thing happened…

_He laughed at me…_

Richie thought, laying down and curling up on his side, feeling another wave of despair wash over him.

_The idea of me being anything more than his friend is a joke._

Everything he had been feeling was finally coming out and his head felt like it would explode. He took a deep shuddering breath, hid his face deep in his pillow and started to cry.

The music slowly faded, and once more, Richie reached out to press rewind. 

* * *

After the phone call with Richie, Eddie felt this throat start to constrict and had to use his inhaler for the first time in a while. He had left Bill’s house shortly afterward, thanking him insisting that “Yes, he was fine. Yes, he was sure.” On the short walk home: he went over the conversation over and over in his mind. Richie had _never_ hung up on him before.

 Eddie passed Richie’s house on the way home and fought the temptation to go inside, run up the stairs, and burst through the door yelling “WHAT THE FUCK, RICHIE?” -but he reasoned with himself, confirming that Richie said they would talk later. _Later indicates some time tonight_. _That’s fine._ He thought. _We’ll talk later. He just needs some space._

They didn’t talk later that night, or on Sunday for that matter. Eddie must have called 10 times trying to reach him. Every time he called a different member of Richie’s family answered, explaining that Richie was busy/sick/in the shower/sleeping…none of which Eddie considered to be true.

His stomach was in knots for the rest of the weekend and Sonia Kaspbrak was becoming more and more adamant that Eddie had to be coming down with _something_ and urged him to let her take him to the doctor.

They were sitting at the kitchen table, Eddie making his rounds staring from the phone to the clock and with every passing minute he was becoming more agitated. His dinner was getting cold.

His mother put her hand on his, breaking his concentration. “Come on, Eddie-bear you haven’t slept a wink since you came home yesterday. You haven’t eaten anything. Please, lets just get in the car and-“  
  
“Mom. Please.” Eddie quickly got up from the table. “Do not make this about me being sick. I can’t handle that right now. I’m fine. I’m not sick. _I’M FINE_.” He raised his voice for the last part of his statement, causing his mother to become distressed 

“Eddie, please-“ but Eddie didn’t let his mother finish. Instead he took that as his cue to hightail it up to his room, locking the door behind him and pressing his body up against it. His mother was calling from the bottom of the stairs, which she wouldn’t climb unless she really had to. Eddie didn’t answer and instead opted to cross his room and put on his stereo as loud as he could handle without getting a headache.

_Well that doesn’t help._

He hadn’t taken Richie’s mix tape out of the deck and before he could react, Mick Jagger was picking up where he left off while singing _Miss You._

_“I’ve been hanging on the phone. I’ve been sleeping all alone. I want to kiss you.”_

One time when Richie was stoned he had described this song as “the feeling of longing” regarding Jagger a lyrical genius. Right now though, Eddie considered Mick Jagger to be nothing more than a prick that was forcing him to feel things he didn’t want to feel. Why did music always have to do this? It’s the worst day of your life and you turn on the radio only to realize that every song is for you…

Except in this case, every song on this tape _was_ for Eddie.

 

[1] Unfortunately that did actually happen.


	5. Monday. November 3, 1994

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will update on a weekly basis. I'm thinking one every Saturday.

**7:45 AM**

“Where the hell are they?”

The Losers were all standing around their usual spot at the flagpole, fighting the bitter wind that was whipping their cheeks, and watching the dying leaves as they skittered across the pavement.

Stan had his arms folded across his chest and was shifting from foot to foot. HIs short black hair stiff with hairspray, unmoving. He hated to be kept waiting, especially for Richie. “I swear that asshole’s gonna be late to his own funeral.” He muttered. 

Bill had been the only one who hadn’t laughed. He had a nagging feeling that the fight Richie and Eddie had over the weekend hadn’t sorted itself out, but a larger part of him was expecting to see the pair pull into the parking lot, anyway. Everything would be back to normal 

He settled in his resolve and they all breathed a collective sigh of relief when they saw Richie’s car tear through the lot, parking practically sideways, taking up a corner of a handicap spot. They watched him get out of his car and flick a cigarette butt at his feet. They all put up their hands in greeting, but Richie didn’t return the wave. He just…walked right by them.

“Hey?” Ben said, confused and honestly feeling a little peeved. “Good Morning to you too?

“Where’s Eddie?” Mike asked. “We were looking forward to hearing about that _awesome_ party.” Bill winced upon hearing that, knowing exactly how the party had gone and how that comment must have been like salt in the wound for Richie.

Richie turned around and looked at his friends just long enough to say “I’m not his fucking keeper, okay?” before continuing through the double doors.

“Since when?” Stan asked, incredulously. “What the hell is his problem?” He looked to Bill, the way all of them did; expecting an answer. Bill always had the answers. Except when he _didn’t_. Right now, Bill Denbrough had no fucking clue what in the hell was going on. He had called Eddie on Sunday just to check up on him, but the boy had seemed profoundly irritated, telling Bill that he really couldn’t chat as he was waiting around for a call. Obviously that call had never come.

The bell for first period began to ring, and Ben offered to stick around a little longer just to see if Eddie would show up. Mike and Stan nodded in his direction and began to walk away. With a sudden burst of energy, Bill brushed passed both of them, apologizing and making his way through the doors and down corridor A towards Richie’s locker. Richie was just in the process of stuffing his coat inside when Bill caught up.

“Hey R-Richie, what’s going on?” Bill attempted to seem casual, but it wasn’t worth lying. “Are you okay?”

“Fuck off, Mush-mouth, you’re the last person I wanna talk to.”

Bill blinked slowly and shook his head, effectively erasing his mind of that insult. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” He said sternly, mentally patting himself on the back for not stuttering. “You’re acting fucking w-weird, and I just want to know what’s going on.”

“ **Sure** , why not?” Richie said, slamming his locker door shut and pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “Let’s chat.” He dropped his backpack at his feet and brought his hands together, looking as if he was praying. “Please, for the love of God, remind me to _never_ take your advice again.” He began. “I fucking did it, okay? I told Eddie how I feel and I kissed him.”

Bill pressed his lips together until they formed a thin line and sighed through his nose. “I t-take it that didn’t go so well.”

“Ya think?” Richie rolled his eyes and sneered. “I’m sure he’s told you all about it. Don’t think I don’t know why you came over here. And what the fuck was Mike on about outside? Did you tell them too? Have a nice chuck at my expense?” Bill could hear the anger in Richie’s voice, but couldn’t see it on his face. The rage was only a mask to cover-up the fear and grief he was feeling.

“N-no.” Bill assured him. “I didn’t say anything to anyone. Ah-I wasn’t even sure what happened until you t-t-told me just now. Eddie doesn’t remember anything.”

Richie huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “Well, that’s good news for him, but I can’t fuckin’ forget it.” The mask was starting to slip, and Bill could hear the quivering in his friend’s voice, and took note of his bloodshot eyes.

“B-but that’s a good thing isn’t it?” Bill offered, giving a half-hearted shrug. _God, this is worse than I thought._ He mused, wishing he had just kept his mouth shut. Bill’s biggest flaw was that he was constantly meddling in other’s people’s shit. He was too nosey for his own good. He had always suspected that Richie and Eddie were more than friends; he was just trying to give them the little push he thought they needed. “If h-he doesn’t remember, c-can’t you just pretend you don’t either? Don’t give up on him, you’ve b-b-been best friends since Elementary School.”

Richie licked his lips and took a long, slow breath. “I really wish I could.” He said, softer now. “I wish I could, but I can’t even talk to him on the phone, let alone look at him. _I_ remember what happened. _I_ was there. _I_ saw the look on his face.” He dropped his voice down to a whisper; waiting for a group of freshman girls to pass by. The late bell had rung, but the two weren’t moving. “And he _might_ say he doesn’t remember but he remembered enough to laugh about it over the phone, like it was a fucking joke.” His hands were starting to shake and he could hear his heart beating in his ears. “Imagine that for a sec; how would you feel if that’s what Bev did to you, huh?”

Bill looked down at his feet, feeling ashamed. If he had been in Richie’s position, he would have been inconsolable, and definitely wouldn’t be able to just pretend it never happened. It was a harsh chord to hit in Bill’s heart seeing as in their current state, he and Bev were struggling to make their semi-long distance relationship work. They were lucky enough to spend two weeks in the summer together when Bill had gone to visit; and she was planning on coming up for Christmas and the Prom in the spring. If Bill had a car, he would drive the four hours there and back everyday just to see her. “P-point taken.” He said, solemnly.

“That’s what I thought.” Richie wanted to relish in his superiority, but his heart wasn’t in it. He didn’t wish this feeling on anyone: feeling like you were constantly on the verge of puking or crying or both. “And sure, maybe one day I can just put this behind me and laugh, but it’ll never be like it was. Right now, all I want is to make it through today without seeing him, so I can go home, get high, and stay that way. 

Richie picked up his backpack off the floor and slung it over his shoulder. “I won’t be at lunch, so don’t wait up.” He said finally, turning his back on Bill and walking down the hall towards his classroom.

* * *

“Mr. Kaspbrak, you’re fifteen minutes late…”

Eddie had just walked into his Calculus class, head hung low, trying as hard as he could not to make eye contact with his teacher or classmates. “I’m sorry, sir.” He said quietly, taking a seat next to the door. “It won’t happen again.”

Mr. Crosby peered over his tortoise-shell glasses and sniffed. “See that it doesn’t. Now, as I was saying-“

Eddie had tuned his teacher out as soon as he sat down. He was still fuming from the events that had transpired this morning. Ordinarily, Richie would be the one to drive him to school. They had been doing that for over a year, since the day Richie got his license. Eddie wasn’t sure what he was expecting, honestly. They hadn’t spoken since Saturday, but still, he waited outside his house for Richie to pull up and maybe say that everything was fine; water under the bridge. Instead, he watched as Richie sped by his house, with the music cranked. His mother was stuck with the task of driving him to school, nagging him the entire way about making sure he didn’t shower after gym at the risk of contracting athlete’s foot. It definitely ranked high on his list of worst rides to school, right up there with the time he threw up orange juice on the bus in third grade. He had just been thinking about how the citric acid burned his nose and throat when they finally arrived. He wanted so badly to close the door on his mother, but he felt terrible yelling at her over the weekend. 

“I understand, mom. No showers and no school lunch. I got it.”

He didn’t open his book or take a single note during all of first period, or second for that matter. All he could do was stare out the window to the classroom door, hoping that Richie would walk by like he always did. Eddie really needed to laugh. No, what he really needed was to talk to his best friend, but that wasn’t happening anytime soon. _Why is he avoiding me?_ After all these years, he figured they could get through anything. Why was a drunken fight at a stupid party such a big deal? What exactly had Eddie said that hurt Richie so badly?

Period three, English, was the last class before lunch, and it _dragged_. Eddie could feel himself age ten years for every ten minutes and by the time bell rang, he was speed walking to the cafeteria, pivoting and scooting in between students with the kind of agility that would make the football coach proud 

He took a seat at their usual table and waited for the others to file in. His knee was bouncing rapidly, and he swore that if his heart beat any faster, it would pop out of his chest. Mike and Ben appeared, carrying their bag lunches and sat down at the circular table.

“There he is.” Mike said with a smile, dumping the sandwich and bag of chips out in front of him. He was going to do that gross _thing_ where he would stuff his chips in between the bread and eat it like that, which never failed to make Eddie a little queasy watching it happen. Ben was peeling an orange and surveying Eddie’s face.

“I tried waiting up for you this morning, we thought maybe you were home sick.”

“My mom had to drop me off…” Eddie said, picking at his cuticles and looking around. “Richie uh…never came to pick me up this morning. I saw him drive by, but he didn’t stop.” Saying it out loud made Eddie feel worse.

“Huh.” Mike scrunched up his napkin and wiped his mouth. “He was acting really crabby this morning; he’s got a major stick up his ass about something. 

“You can say that again.” Said a voice out of nowhere, causing Eddie to turn his head so sharply his neck might have snapped. It was Stan, standing next to Bill, trays in hand. The two sat down and Stan took no time diving into his take on the matter. 

“I walk into History, and I see him sitting there, _reading_.” Stan looked around, and repeated himself when he realized he wasn’t getting the reaction he wanted. “Reading…a **book**.” He said, emphasizing each word slowly. “And, not like a titty magazine or a comic.” He disappeared under the table and grabbed the fat World History textbook, slamming it down on the table and almost knocking over his soda. “ _THIS_ book.”

“Oh shit.” Ben looked to each of his friends and shook his head. “Well, I guess all that’s left is to kill him. Obviously he’s a pod person. It’s Invasion of the Body Snatchers all over again.”

“I’m serious.” Stan said, taking a sip of his drink and continuing. "I tried to talk to him before class started but he just said he was _sorry_ , and that he _really needed to study_. 

“Dude, what happened over the weekend?” Mike said, looking at Eddie who was looking desperate.

“I don’t fucking know! Okay?” Eddie looked to Bill who looked like he knew something they didn’t. “Did you talk to him?” Eddie asked, sounding slightly more accusatory than he intended.

“All I know is h-he’s not coming to lunch.”

“Then fuck this.” Eddie said, firmly, picking up his bag and leaving the cafeteria, making sure to avoid any teachers. He had a pretty good idea of where he would find Richie.

* * *

The breezeway between the gym and the custodian’s station was absolutely littered with cigarette butts. Richie always smoked after lunch, before fourth period, so naturally that’s where Eddie found him standing. Much to Eddie’s shock, as soon as Richie had finished the one he had been smoking, he was reaching into his pack for another and lighting it.

“What the fuck, Richie?” Eddie hissed, swatting the cig from the taller man’s hand and crushing it underfoot. Richie only rolled his eyes and pulled another from the pack. “It was just supposed to be one a day. Remember our deal? 

“Deal’s off.” Richie stated, speaking as the smoke filtered from his mouth.

The smoke was blowing into his eyes, but Eddie stayed in place and stared at his friend. “Everyone’s worried about you, especially me. What is going on?”

Richie took a step back and leaned against the brick wall of the gym. “Nothin’” He inhaled and the smoke was distorting his voice. “I’m peachy fuckin’ keen.”

That was it.

“Peachy fuckin’ keen?” Eddie repeated, calmly; _far_ too calmly.

Richie raised an eyebrow and braced himself as Eddie finally took a deep breath and began to shout.

“ _Peachy fucking keen_! Is that how you feel? Is it peachy fucking keen that you haven’t been taking my calls? Is it peachy fucking keen that you haven’t said one goddamn word to me since Saturday? Seriously, RICHARD is it peachy fucking keen that you drove passed me this morning without stopping,and I _know_ you saw me. My mother, MY MOTHER, had to drive me to school this morning. You wanna know what I had to listen to on the drive over here? Athlete’s foot and dysentery! Every morning it’s like the fucking Oregon Trail with this woman, and you’re gonna stand there and pretend like everything is fine!?”

Richie said nothing, which only served to make Eddie more infuriated, but he steadied himself and tried to sound reasonable. “We have been friends for _years_ , you can'tjust stop talking to me without at least telling me why. 

For a minute, and only a minute, Richie looked as if he had broken, and was finally going to explain himself, maybe even apologize for acting like an enormous tool and literally driving Eddie insane, but no. The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch and Richie merely tossed his cigarette butt on the ground along with the others and tucked the pack into his pocket. “You really wanna know why?” He asked, walking up to Eddie, to the point where they were practically nose to nose.

“Yes.” Eddie replied, trying to maintain steady eye contact. “I really want to know why.”  
  
Richie looked into Eddie’s eyes and cocked his head to the side, saying only “I forgot” before turning his back and heading inside. 

* * *

Richie spent the rest of the day in a haze, looking straight ahead and blindly recording notes for class. It was like his head was in another plane of existence and his body was just going through the motions.

He was fully aware that his parting words to Eddie had effectively hammered the last nail in his proverbial coffin. The goal was to make Eddie hate him. Anyone else would have just calmly and rationally discussed the issue at hand with the person they had literally spent almost every waking moment with since they were nine, but Richie Tozier was not that kind of guy.

His whole life had been one giant performance of attention-seeking and self-loathing disguised as narcissism. Everything was either going great or going to shit; there were no gray areas. His home life was stagnant, and at this point he didn’t care if the attention he was getting was good or bad because at least people were hearing him. Even his own friends chose to ignore him when he was in one of his moods; where the heat was rising and the jokes became more and more crude.

It wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism for dealing with neglect, but hey, he was living in suburban Maine and life was a fucking nightmare wherever you turned.

His neighbor was addicted to pills, half of their teachers were functional illiterates, and Richie was ninety-five percent sure if the police raided the stockroom of Second Hand Rose Second Hand Clothes, they would find crack-just piles of crack. But, every day, you could walk down the street and Derry’s residents would wave, and smile, and push their lawn mowers, basking in the façade and living their lies.

Without Eddie in his life, Richie didn’t have a reason to stick around. They would all graduate and move out of state, effectively forgetting all about their formative years, and they would live out their boring adult lives far away from this toilet they called home. 

Richie started his car, and and was fastening his seatbelt when his cassette player came to life; the voice of Dave Gahan from Depeche Mode was breaking into the chorus of _Enjoy the Silence_ , taunting him.

“Don’t mind if I _don't_.” Richie said, slamming the stop button. It was the first time he had driven home in complete silence.

Alone with his thoughts, he had a knee-jerk reaction to turn the car around, pull up next to Eddie and throw himself at his mercy. He would beg for forgiveness and Eddie would call him and asshole but he would accept it. The thought of anyone else taking his place in Eddie’s life made him ill.

There seemed to be a short-circuit connection between Richie’s brain and his mouth; thus “I’m so sorry for everything I’ve said” always turned into “Go fuck yourself.” Maybe he just had to face facts and finally admit to himself that his mouth was a curse, not a gift, capable of pushing away everyone he cared about.

He walked into his house, fully expecting it to be empty and was greeted instead by a voice from the other room. “Whos’at?” It was Richie’s father, Wentworth. Someone must have cancelled their dental cleaning, as he was usually never home this early. 

“I’m a burglar and I want all your stem-ware.” Richie deadpanned, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a coke from the fridge, which he opened with a satisfying _crack_. The sound never failed to get his father’s attention.

“Rich; that better not be another coke. You already had one this morning, all that sugar is going to be a nightmare on your teeth. One a day, that’s the rule." 

Richie sauntered into the living room and in front of the tv, blocking his father’s view of the 3 o’clock news. He took a large gulp and his father glowered.

Richie looked down at the can and analyzed the label. “Huh.” He said, looking from the can to his father. “I could have sworn this was beer. My mistake.” He lifted a finger and tapped the frames of his glasses. “Guess I need a stronger prescription.”

“What you need is kick in the head.” His father said mildly, ushering his son out of the way with his hand. “I swear, I don’t know why you insist on being such a putz. I know I didn’t raise you that way.”

“Raising?” Richie feigned confusion. “Is that what that was?”

_Why don't you mess with me like you used to? At least have the stones to yell at me..._

Wentworth didn’t respond, and merely leaned over to grab the remote and turn up the volume. That was his way of saying the fight was over. Richie walked up the stairs to his room, thinking all the while; _That’s what you get for all those years of scamming me outta my lawn mowing money, ya dickhead._

Not being able to bear the silence any longer, Richie spent the rest of his evening holed up in his room, switching up his emotional playlist between The Pixies and The Smiths. It was a weird tonal combination of extreme indifference and mournful longing, but it effectively had put Richie in the numb state he was striving for.

_“Your head will collapse, but there’s nothing in it, and you’ll ask yourself…where is my mind?”_

_“Please, please, please…let me, let me, let me…let me get what I want this time.”_

He only had stems left in his stash box, so instead of getting high, he made it an early night, falling into a dreamless, restless sleep around eleven.

* * *

After a short-lived outburst of screaming and kicking a trashcan, Eddie had gone back to class; wriggling his toes inside of his shoe, hoping he hadn’t actually broken anything. He always considered it to be so over the top and unnecessary when men felt the need to cause destruction in the wake of an emotional breakdown, but now he understood. 

 _Oh this is not over._ Eddie thought to himself, bitterly. _This isn’t over by a long shot._

He had study hall with Bill and didn’t waste anytime relaying the day’s previous events in a rushed whisper. “And he just says _I forgot,_ and walks away!” Eddie motioned in a general direction and recoiled upon being shushed by a group of kids trying to do their work. He got closer to Bill’s face and dropped his voice back down to a whisper. “Like, what the fuck am I supposed to do with that? I’m so sorry I forgot what happened but I was stoned _and_  drunk off malt liquor.” Bill nodded and Eddie continued. “Jesus, why is he being so dramatic?”

Eddie might have been livid, but more than anything he was devastated. Regardless of anything that had happened over the weekend, he had hurt Richie. He was so used to feeling guilty, but not because of his best friend. Bill wasn’t any help either, saying only that Eddie really needed to try and remember what had happened that night, because that was the smoking gun.

Try as he might, he couldn’t separate reality from delusion. He much preferred the dream scenario of getting kissed by Richie, but that seemed even further from the truth than it ever had.

Eddie spent most of his own evening listening to music as well. He chided himself on doing something that was just a touch too gay, even for him: listening to _The Promise_ by When in Rome until he was confident that if someone put a gun to his head and told him to recite the words or die, he would live to see another day. He wasn't sure what possessed him, but Eddie got up in the middle of the eighth play through and put the mix tape Richie had made him back in the deck. He lay back down and closed his eyes, letting the voice of Morrissey fill his ears with _Hand In Glove_ ; a song all about having a love that was taboo, but not caring what anyone else thought.  _Richie was right._ He thought. Music was great for saying the things you couldn’t say yourself.

It was at that moment that Eddie had an epiphany. “Oh my god, I’m a fucking idiot.” Eddie literally threw himself out of bed and over to the stereo, pressing the fast forward button and praying to whatever magic being in the sky that he landed on the right track. Every single song on this tape was in one way or another a love song. He mentally began to go over the playlist as the tape sped along.

 _Heroes_ by David Bowie

 _Kiss_ by Prince

 _Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy_ by Queen

 _Lovesong_ by the Cure

 _Hand in Glove_ by The Smiths

 _Any Time At All_ by The Beatles

 _Miss You_ by The Rolling Stones and finally…

_“Fools rush in where wise men never go, but wise men never fall in love, so who are they to know? When we met, I felt my life begin, so open up your heart and let this fool rush in.”_

“Holy shit, I really _am_ a fucking idiot.” He had to go and see Richie. Enough dicking around, it was now or never.

Eddie opened his bedroom door a centimeter at a time, finally poking his head out into the hallway. There wasn’t any light shining from under his mother’s bedroom door and he could hear her sleep apnea machine whirring. He knew, in the back of his mind that he could drop a box of hammers on the ground and she wouldn’t be able to hear it but he still screamed internally every time a floorboard squeaked underfoot.

Once he was outside, he could breath again. He was sneaking out of his house in the middle of the night and damned if he didn’t feel pretty fucking brave. He broke into a confident stride, going down a few streets before turning onto Richie’s. That’s when his confidence began to crumble. He started to turn around and head back, but he thought better of it. “No” he said aloud. “I’m going. I’m going up there and I’m gonna tell him what’s what if it’s the last fucking thing I do.” He was going over to Richie’s house to confess his shameless and unabashed love, and Richie was going to sit down, shut up and listen. _I have nothing more to lose. He already hates me._ He thought to himself, kicking a rock down the street as he walked. _I can’t spend the rest of my life wishing that I could work up the nerve._  

Standing in the driveway of the Tozier residence, Eddie’s heart sank once again. How was he going to get in? It was a little after midnight and nobody would be awake. He couldn’t just knock on the door, so he opted to walk around the house and jiggle the windows to see if they were unlocked. _Shit, I really am trying to break into his house. I’m insane. I’m officially insane._ It was then that he looked up to the immediate right of Richie’s window. He gulped.  _I’m gonna have to climb that goddamn tree._

And so he did. Eddie hoisted himself on the low hanging branch of the medium sized crabapple tree and began to climb. “This isn’t so hard.” Eddie whispered to himself, honestly proud that he was doing so well. “This is fine, this is-“ His hand made contact with something slimy and Eddie brought his hand up to his face, confirming his fear that he had just put his hand in bird shit. _BIRD FLU BIRD FLU BIRD FLU!_ chorused in Eddie’s ears, but he made quick work of climbing the rest of the branch, stopping next to Richie’s window and tapping frantically on the glass.

* * *

  _T_ _ap tap tap tap tap._

“The’fuck?” Richie sat up in bed and looked around his room, his eyes darting to the window and seeing… _a fuckin' monster?_ A looming shadow was sitting in the tree next to his window and Richie pawed frantically for his glasses. Once they were on his face, he got out of bed and grabbed his bat off the floor, approaching the window slowly. He had just put his hand on the sill and was ready to lift it up and whack the creep in the face when he recognized his intruder. He dropped the bat and sighed “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Richie open the window. I’m in a fucking tree, my hand is covered in bird shit, and I swear to god if you don’t let me in I will start screaming and wake up every last motherfucker in this neighborhood.”

The window slid open and Eddie came tumbling in, landing in a heap on the floor. He stood up and pointed a shit-covered finger in Richie’s face. “This isn’t over. Don’t go anywhere.” He then proceeded to leave the room and wash his hands in the bathroom sink.

Richie had crawled back in bed in the two minutes it took for Eddie to clean up, and the smaller man had come tearing back in saying “Oh no you don’t” effectively yanking the covers off the bed. Richie groaned and swung his legs over the side, sitting up and making narrow eye contact with Eddie. Richie had a habit of sleeping only in his underwear, so not only was he feeling flustered, but also a tad exposed. “I’m gonna go ahead and skip the part where I ask why you thought it was a good idea to play Nightstalker in my tree and-“

“Shut the fuck up.” Eddie said, effectively cutting Richie off. “I’ll go, but I have to tell you something first, so _for once_ , please, don’t say anything.” Richie wanted nothing more than to say something, but against his body, and against his mind, he complied.

He stared at Eddie for what felt like forever, waiting for something to happen, but he was just standing there, shaking, and looking like he was working out an equation in his head. A few more moments of silence, and Richie broke their agreement, opening his mouth and ready to speak when his mouth was being covered; not with Eddie’s hand, but with his lips. Richie could feel his eyes close and his heart rate surpass a normal range. He saw lights flickering within the blackness of his eyelids and his brain was tingling: firing off dopamine and serotonin.

_Holy shit, this is happening._

He had been holding his breath, and finally let it out when Eddie pulled away. Richie wasn’t ready for that to be over, so he put a hand behind Eddie’s neck and pulled him close one more time, sealing their lips again. This kiss was a little bit more practiced than the previous, the pair actually fitting together functionally rather than just pressing together in a clash of teeth.

When they broke apart, they were both red-faced and breathing fast. Eddie was fidgeting where he stood and looking at his best friend; still shaking from residual nerves. “So, uh…yeah. That’s what I came over here to tell you.”


	6. AUTHOR'S NOTE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NEXT CHAPTER ->

Basically, my sickness update took over this chapter. So when I posted Chapter 6 over it, it only updated and didn't send out alerts to my subscribers. I didn't want to delete the chapter or all of your lovely comments would have gone with it. 

-Kat


	7. Monday-Tuesday. November 4, 1994

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is aggressively short. Thank you all for your well wishes, I feel a hell of a lot better now. Chapter 7 (the real chapter 7) will be much longer.

_“So, uh…yeah. That’s what I came over here to tell you.”_

For once, in his eighteen years of life, Richie Tozier was speechless. His mouth was hanging open like a drawer that wouldn’t quite close. What he wanted to say was something along the lines of “I’m so sorry for the way I acted. I’m so glad you’re here. Please never leave my room.” Instead what had come out was a dreamy sigh, mixed with a groan. Richie reclined backwards on his bed and put his hands on either side of his head. His eyes were closed and he couldn’t help himself from smiling.

“Wow…” He whispered.

He couldn’t see Eddie from his position on the bed, but he knew instinctively that he was standing with his arms crossed, looking at Richie with exasperation. “Wow?” He repeated.

“What the fuck do you mean wow? Is that it? Wow, I can’t believe you did that? Wow, I’m not gay? Wow, I pity you?” Eddie rambled when he was stressed out, his voice would raise a couple octaves and he would start gesturing wildly with his hands.

Richie got to his feet and pulled Eddie into an embrace and laughed softly. He couldn’t help himself. It was that kind of genuine giddiness that made you feel like you would float away if you weren’t anchored. _If I don’t hold onto to him we’re both going to…float away._ He felt Eddie relax in his arms and return the embrace.

“Eds…” Richie’s chin was hovering over Eddie’s ear and he could feel the hair on the back of the other’s neck prickle as he spoke. “I’m…not that eloquent…” Richie quickly shook his head and blurted out “Nope, I’m not quoting Airplane. Not again.”

Eddie wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond, but before he could even begin to wonder where in the hell _that_ non sequitor came from, Richie had released his grip and moved back towards his bed, bending over, and teetering momentarily before grabbing his comforter off of the floor laying it out.

“We should sleep.” Richie said, settling himself between the covers, stretching out his legs; shifting his ankles back and forth until he heard the satisfying pop of his joints. Eddie nodded slowly, and began to move toward the window.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going home?” Eddie said, again, not one hundred percent sure how to handle what was going on. He had one hand resting on the jamb and was getting ready to climb out when Richie sat up in bed and beckoned him back.

“No, stupid.” Richie sighed, patting the spot in bed next to him. “I mean _we_ should sleep.”

* * *

The wind was starting to pick up outside, and the branches of the crabapple tree knocked against the window, tapping in an almost eerie cadence that sounded like a metronome. The radiator was buzzing, and the grandfather clock echoed through the hallway signaling the new hour. It was two in the morning and pair were lying in Richie’s bed, looking up at the ceiling and noticing the slow rise and fall of each other’s chests.

There was never any question about sleeping in the same bed. It was never awkward, it was never questioned, it just happened. They would go to sleep facing _away_ from one another kicking each other’s cold feet out from under the warmth of the covers, and throughout the night their bodies would inch and shift their way into each other’s personal bubbles. Every morning, they would wake up facing _toward_ one another, so close, but never touching, like there was an invisible barrier keeping them separate. A barrier that boys _who were just friends_ weren’t allowed to cross with one another.

Once Richie had given him the go ahead, Eddie had removed his shoes, shirt, pants and socks, folding them haphazardly before giving up and climbing into bed. Sleeping together had always felt like second nature, but it was so different this time, palpable tension between them and the sheets.

 _It **is** different now._ Eddie had to remind himself.

In the time between their last night spent together and now, they had gone from best friends, to strangers, and skipped right ahead to-well, whatever this was. What did they do now? Do they sleep like they always did, only touching by the soles of their feet, or just cut the entire pretense and face one another right away? Do they hold hands, or see how well their body’s fit together, sleeping in each other’s arms like couples did in the movies?

They spent a long while waiting in the dark; waiting for someone to say something, _do_ something. Richie moved first, turning on his side to face Eddie, squinting into the dark as he did so. His glasses were off and he regarded the boy with slightly dopey half-lidded eyes. He knew Richie couldn’t see, but that didn’t stop Eddie from meeting his gaze, everything coming into focus only when the clouds rolled by allowing the moon to peak through.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie.” He whispered. Richie hadn’t used Eddie’s nickname. He used to hate it when Richie called him Eds. They were nine years old, and Richie had made the nickname clear, explaining that Eds was short for Eddie, just like Richie was short for Richard.

_“Eddie is already short for Edward, you big dummy.”_

Richie had nicknames for everyone, and even though Eddie hated it at first, he knew that if Richie Tozier gave you a nickname, it meant you were worth a damn to him. Stan was Stan the Man, or Stanny, Mike was Mikey Boy, Beverly was Bev, or sometimes Bevvy, Bill was Big Bill, and Ben was Haystack, named after Haystack Calhoun, the world’s largest wrestler. No one ever claimed they were creative nicknames, mind you. Eddie’s was the only one he consistently used. In a weird way, it was like a pet name, and Eddie secretly, in spite of himself, loved it. Every single time Richie called his name, it was like coming up for air.

Eddie didn’t feel like an apology was needed, really. He was just happy they were talking again, regardless of the kiss and now requited feelings-but still Richie kept repeating the same words in a whisper. “I’m sorry…I’m so fuckin sorry…”

“Richie, shut up.” Eddie brought a tentative hand up and rested it other man’s shoulder. “I’m not denying that you were acting like a category four asshole, but you don’t need to be sorry. What I don’t get is why you couldn’t just tell me…seriously, you literally _never_ stop talking.”

Eddie finished his statement with a good-natured chuckle. Banter was their whole shtick but he didn’t need Richie feeling worse about himself then he already did. Richie returned a brief smile and scooted his body closer, putting an arm around Eddie’s waist and resting a hand on the small of his back. They were definitely touching now. Invisible barrier be damned.

“Because...” He could feel Richie tense up momentarily, balling up his fist and then slowly unfurling his fingers, tracing lines on his skin underneath the covers. “I didn’t…know how to.” Richie phrased this, almost as if he didn’t believe it himself; the words sticky and drizzled with doubt. “I mean, damn Eds, I’ve only been flirting with you for an eternity, can you give a guy a little credit?”

That much was true, but Eddie felt the need to defend himself. Even if he knew this was equally his own fault for being so unobservant and cynical. “I always thought you were joking.” He alleged; tapping his fingers on Richie’s bare shoulder. “That’s all you ever do. You make a joke about my mom’s vagina, I tell you to shut the fuck up, and then you call me cute. How am I supposed to take you seriously, when you don’t take _anything_ seriously?”

“That’s not fair…” Richie grumbled and puffed out his chest. “I’m mature. I take shit seriously.”

“Richie...” Eddie sighed. “You still laugh whenever anyone says 'duty.'”

Eddie watched Richie’s mouth threaten to crack a grin, fighting to keep his composure. He cleared his throat and his brows knit together into a forced expression of stern stoicism. “See? I’m not laughing. I am a grown man, and I will not be broken…”

“Is that so?” Eddie could hear the doubt in the back of Richie’s throat and knew it was time to go in for the kill. He leaned in close until their noses touched, looked right into Richie’s eyes and said “Heavy duty…”

Richie had lost it, snorting out a laugh before cursing both his paper-thin resolution and Eddie’s nerve. “Damn it. Fuck you. I was doing so well!” Eddie was distracted in his own brief laughter when Richie had tried to seek his own revenge by poking the smaller boy in the ribs and effectively making him shriek.

Eddie felt Richie’s hand quickly clamp over his mouth and they both lay in silence, waiting to hear any sounds of stirring from down the hallway in Richie’s parent’s bedroom. There were none, but neither boy had quite begun to breathe again. The worry was fabricated, of course. If Richie’s parents had walked in on them, there wouldn’t be any issue other than a bark of anger, a “Shut the hell up and go to bed.”

Maggie or Went wouldn’t even bother to really look at the them, half naked, laying next to each other in bed, pushing passed the invisible barrier, trying to make up for years of being apart. _But what if they did?_ Eddie had the slow realization that he and Richie now had a reason to be on edge. They had to be careful.

The laughing provided a brief respite before the atmosphere once again turned serious. Always keep em laughing, as Richie would say. “I will admit…” Eddie began, clearing his throat, but keeping his voice low. “I’m pretty embarrassed that I didn’t put two and two together sooner…with the tape, I mean. When I first heard the Sinatra song I think I almost-“

“So you _did_ hear the song? Sorry.” Richie apologized for interrupting, but he couldn’t help himself and continued anyway. “I was worried you hadn’t found it. And if you did find it, and you didn’t…you know…get it, then I was just gonna be like _Oh that? I don’t know that’s fuckin crazy, how did that get on there. Someone kill me…”_

“Well, at first I thought maybe it was an old tape you recorded over, but then I realized the theme, ya know? All those sappy _hopelessly romantic_ love songs should have tipped me off.” Eddie said, impishly.

* * *

“Uh actually ah think you meant tah say prolific an hah-rtfelt.”

Richie was putting on the voice of Buford Kissdrivel, a confederate general-type with a heavy hollow-barrel voice and thick southern drawl; one of his own creations that he had been working on. His voices always made Eddie smile, and even though he couldn’t see aforementioned smile, he could sure as hell feel it in the dark.

“That’s what got ya tah come ovah in the first place, mah boy. Climbin up mah tree like some kindah Prince Chah-rmin, I say, who is the real sap heah?[1]”

“Good to know I’m charming.” Eddie retorted, without missing a beat.

“Yeah.” Richie agreed, speaking normally now and ruffling Eddie’s hair with the palm of his hand. “Even when you’re covered in shit and sap, and having a panic attack.”

“It is a gift.”

Silence consumed the conversation once more, but this time the tension had all but ceased. It was comfortable.

They weren’t facing one another anymore, but hadn’t turned away either. Richie was lying on his back, one arm cradling the back of his neck; the other slung around Eddie who was on his side, and resting his head on Richie’s chest. They hadn’t done this before. Amazing how a simple adjustment could change the whole context of an action.

Richie took the time to close his eyes and really soak in the moment. Eddie’s hair smelled as nice as it always did. Usually it smelled like a mixture of shampoo and some kind of product he used to keep it in place, but tonight it was unwashed and a little greasy. Richie didn’t remember if it was Bev who had told him or some magazine, but the claim was that the “natural” smell someone had, no deodorant, shampoo, or cologne to mask it, was supposed to be a key identifier in your attraction to them. _Pheromones or some shit._ Richie thought, suddenly panicked at the thought of his own personal smell. What if he stunk? Eddie was in very close proximity to his armpit; so he craned his neck in order to execute a subtle smell check.

_Eh, acceptable._

He was staring at the ceiling again, trying to ignore the fact that the shadows of the trees branches looked like claws. Every so often he would look down to verify that Eddie was still there. This wasn’t just an elaborate and cruel dream his over-active imagination had concocted. He sighed. What was there left to say that he hadn’t said already? He wasn’t ready to say goodnight, but he knew they both needed sleep if they wanted tomorrow to go smoothly.

 _Tomorrow…the first day of us being “not just friends.”_ The thought made Richie’s mouth go dry and a cold shiver run up his spine. He opened his mouth to speak, but decided he better wait until the drive to school before opening that can of worms. They had plenty of time to hash out what all of this meant, but for the mean time, Richie figured he might as well relax and enjoy his newly acquired company _._

Realxing would be nice if he could figure out how to make his brain quit while it was ahead. _I gotta say something before we go to sleep. Something cool…something suave._ Maybe throw in a little smooth closing line before they closed their eyes, something to assure Eddie that he made a good choice in picking Richie to kiss and share a bed with. As it stood though, he knew that in reality he was about as smooth as Carlton Banks[2].

_Son of a bitch._

The thought had conjured up an image in Richie’s mind of Alfonso Ribeiro doing his famous dance to the Tom Jones song; which then turned into the show’s theme song, which turned into-

“Rich, you’re grinding your teeth. What’s on your mind?” Eddie had sat up in bed and was looking at him with those calculating eyes, mesmerizing hazel with flecks of gray.

“The Fresh Prince of Bel Air.” Richie answered honestly.

Eddie took a moment to stare at Richie bemusedly. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

“Shoot.”

“Is there a pill for what’s wrong with you?" 

Richie hummed a small laugh and stretched out his arm, signifying that he wanted Eddie to lie back down, which he did, burying his face in the crook of Richie’s neck. “It could be worse.” Richie mused, attempting to ignore the feeling of Eddie’s breath on his neck. “I could be boring and look like Stan.”

Eddie huffed, sending another shiver down the taller boy’s spine. “I’m gonna tell him you said that.”

Richie gulped and focused all of his mental fortitude on keeping his thoughts as neutral as possible. If he got a hard-on right now, that would be it. He would have to just get in his car and drive it into the Penobscot River. There were stirrings, but ultimately his body being tired outweighed its desire to fully embarrass him.

The two lay there together, not caring that the position they were in got less comfortable over time or that they were starting to sweat. It didn’t matter that they had wasted even more time in their attempt to sleep by starting to quietly sing the whole Fresh Prince of Bel Air theme song in unison (as it was now stuck in their heads). This was how it was supposed to be. Eddie’s foolhardy nighttime break-in was the best thing that could have happened and all Richie could think as Eddie was yawning next to him was that he was happy. This was what being happy, _really happy_ , felt like.

“Richie?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for letting me break into your house."

“Anytime, creep.”

 

[1] “Uh, actually I think you meant to say prolific and heartfelt. That’s what got you to come over in the first place, my boy. Climbing up my tree like some kind of Prince Charming. I say, who is the real sap here?”

[2] The Fresh Prince of Bel Air (1990-1996)


	8. Tuesday. November 4, 1994 (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little tiny baby warning for adult content and slight NSFW content (like, the slightest amount) 
> 
> Thank you all for being patient.

**6:08 AM**

Sleeping in someone’s arms seemed perfect in theory. There’s maximum contact and comfort with minimal effort. In practice, it turned out; you wake up to your companion’s morning breath, a kink in your shoulder, _and is that drool?_ Minor discomfort aside, Eddie would have been lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed waking up practically on top of Richie; who was snoring softly with his head lulled to one side. Quite frankly, this was the best sleep Eddie had enjoyed in months. No nightmares. 

There was still another hour before they had to be up, so rather than going downstairs and making awkward small talk with the other Toziers, Eddie decided to slowly remove himself from Richie’s torso and try to go back to sleep. He was planning on hogging the comforter all to himself and making a warm tartan cocoon. Richie usually kicked the blanket and sheets completely off the bed in the middle of the night, so it’s not like he would miss them.

Once he was sufficiently wrapped up and comfortable, falling back to sleep was as easy as- 

**6:14 AM**

The weight of the bed had shifted earlier, and Eddie stirred, only to find that he was alone and lying completely diagonal across the full-size mattress. He kept his eyes closed, knowing that if the light got in he wouldn’t be able to doze off again. He tucked his knees up to his chest and buried his face into Richie’s pillow, inhaling deeply. _At least now I don’t have to be embarrassed that I think he smells nice._

The rain was coming down in thick drops, like the ones from a showerhead and the _tap tap_ tapping on the windowpane was relaxing.

**6:27 AM**

The smell of damp and dead leaves mingling with the tell tale odor of cigarette smoke was what finally got Eddie to wake up for good. The adjustment to the morning light was brief. The sky was the color of dirty snow, and bathed everything in a soft gray glow. The window was open only a few inches, but it amplified the sound of the rain as it fell in sheets and brought in a drafty chill. Richie had set up his desk chair underneath it and was smoking: trying to make sure to flick as much ash as he could through the crack. Most of it just wound up on the sill and mixed with the rain that had sputtered in. Eddie sat up and spent a good minute and a half looking him over. Pale and slim, untamable hair;mussed from deep sleep, thick glasses…just in his boxers, somehow managing to make smoking look good. He seemed very focused on something in his immediate field of vision, and Eddie wondered for a moment if Richie ever played that game where you make the raindrops race…

“If you don’t want to catch a cold, you should probably put some clothes on.” Eddie piped up, and Richie turned to look at him. 

“Well, good morning, sunshine.” He said with a grin, closing the window and walking over to the foot of the bed. Using his arms for support, he leaned down to give Eddie a kiss when the smaller boy’s hand went up to cover his lips. Richie’s eyes became wide and slightly alarmed, as if he had the sudden realization that he had done something wrong. Eddie recognized the look and was quick to reassure.

“Don’t worry. I just wanna brush my teeth first, that’s all.”

Richie relaxed and huffed out a small sigh of relief, before following Eddie down the hallway toward the bathroom. “Is it the cigarettes?” He asked, sounding slightly guilty, flipping the light switch and closing the door.

“It’s not, _not_ the cigarettes.” Eddie said evenly, swinging the bathroom cabinet and opening a new toothbrush. _They must have fifty spares in here._ Ever since they were kids, Eddie never had to worry about forgetting to bring a toothbrush, and every time he opened the cabinet, he swore the number doubled.

“Well then I’m done. That was my last one. I quit.” Richie said finally, turning the faucet and wetting his brush. The fact that Richie would quit just so he could kiss Eddie anytime made his cheeks flush, but still he didn’t want to start out the day with an ultimatum.

“You don’t have to quit today, Rich. Our old one a day deal is fine by me.”

Richie tried to speak with a mouthful of toothpaste, but it only dribbled out the corners of his mouth and muffled his words. Eddie more or less understood what Richie was saying and responded with a “Yes, really. It’s gonna be hard to quit, otherwise they wouldn’t make all those patches and gum. Besides, you gotta have something to do after lunch or you’ll just get antsy and torment Stan by leaving a bunch of tampons in his locker again.”

“I’m really proud of that one.” Richie mused. “It’s his own fault for picking such an easy locker combo. Who uses their own birthday? Amateur." 

“Yeah, like it wouldn’t be easy to guess yours?” Eddie retorted, rinsing off his brush and setting it on the counter. “What is it? Sixty-nine, sixty-nine?”

“Hah… _no_.”

Richie was in the process of grabbing the mouthwash his dad used at work from under the sink. It was this awful blue stuff that was basically just alcohol and burned like a son of a bitch.

“Alright, what are we betting on?” Richie asked, hopping from foot to foot like a boxer amping himself up for a big match. 

“Loser buys the other a soda?”

“That’s pretty low stakes, Eds.”

“Hm, what about movie tickets  _and_ concessions?”

“Deal.”

The game was simple: it was a game of grit and fortitude. Whoever could stand rinsing their mouth the longest was the winner. Eddie set up the little paper cups and watched as Richie filled them up, like he was pouring shots.

“No, no, no, you put more in mine, you asshole. Make them even!”

“They _are_ even!”

A quick one, two, three, and they were off. Depending on how hard you brushed, the burn was so harsh it could make your eyes water. The two squirmed and balled up their fists, staring each other down, wondering who was going to break first. Richie had more practice than Eddie did in this department. He’d only won once, but he was still fairly certain even then Richie had let him win.

Eddie succumbed after about thirty seconds, spitting into the sink and hissing with disgust. “God, that sucks.”

Richie followed immediately after, wiping his mouth and smiling slyly. “Maybe for you, but it looks like you owe me a date.” He looked at Eddie then, almost sheepishly, and asked “That was supposed to be a date, right?”

Ordinarily, the very idea of a date would cause Eddie’s knees to give out, but this time he had no reservations about saying yes. “Absolutely.” It would be just like any other time they went to the Aladdin. Richie would talk in a loud stage whisper about his predictions on what would happen next, and if the movie was bad, they would practice tossing popcorn into their mouths or dub the actors voices and make up what they were saying. “But I swear to god if you pull a _Diner_ and cut a hole in the bottom of the popcorn tub-“ 

“Edward!” Richie gasped, feigning offence. “On our first date? What kind of common trollop do you take me for?”

“I know you’ll be a perfect gentlemen.” Eddie said, rolling his eyes, but smiling all the same. The theatre was dark, and they might be able to get away with holding hands if the spirit moved them. “I guess you’ll have to be. I’m honestly surprised they didn’t ban you, or the rest of us after what happened…”

Eddie was referring to last summer when Richie had gotten a job at the ticket booth. He only kept it for a few months and was promptly fired once the manager got wind that Richie was sneaking the guys into the films without paying. Richie demanded they supply proof before accusing him of such an egregious charge, and when they supplied the security footage they calmly explained that Richie could either take it on the chin and leave quietly, or he and the rest of the Losers would be banned for life. (He would also have to pay back the money for all the tickets they had neglected to buy.) 

In the end, a firm handshake and a “pleasure doing business with you” ended his “career in pictures.” Or so he put it.

“Yeah well, I’m not just gonna make you guys pay to see a movie when I can get you in for free. That’s crazy. Just like at the Arcade. They expected me to **not** play Street Fighter on my shift when nothing else was going on. I am but a simple man, Eds. That is an extreme level of willpower I do not possess.”

“I wish I could get a job. Make my own money. Get out of the house, ya know?”

Sonia wouldn’t even allow Eddie to get his license, let alone a real “big boy” job. He had taken Drivers Ed just after his seventeenth birthday and had done exceptionally well; but when it came time to taking the actual test; his mother had refused to sign off saying only that it was _too dangerous_ and that Eddie wasn’t ready. He was an adult now, and could just as well take the driving exam with or without his mother, but…finding the courage to stand up to Sonia Kaspbrak only came in small fleeting moments. 

He had gone over to Richie’s house after the whole fiasco and had cried until he felt like he was choking. It was embarrassing. He hated anyone seeing him get so worked up, crying…like his mother did. She used it as a weapon. All she had to do was get a little weepy, and whine out his name: _“Eddiiiiie. Please, you’re scaring me so badly.”_ She didn’t want him to leave her.

Richie had done a really wonderful job consoling him, all things considered. He instructed Eddie to follow him outside, and once they were standing on the crunchy gravel driveway, he was being handed the keys to the Rabbit. “ _Where ever you wanna go, take us there.”_ They drove around town for close to an hour, ducking into empty lots to practice parallel parking. _“Damn, Eds! You’re a natural.”_ They listened to the radio, and finally switched over to tapes for a better selection. Eddie talked, and talked, and talked, and Richie sat quietly and listened to every last thing that was on Eddie’s mind. He talked about his mother, school, their friends, their enemies, his dreams, the future and how he didn’t know if he would be able to leave.

 _“You’re gonna make it out of here.”_ Richie had assured him. _“You’re gonna be a big fucking success, don’t forget that.”_

They had ended their impromptu trip at the Standpipe, reclined back in their seats as far as they could go, and sang _Starman._ Richie had his eyes closed and was letting the music take him away, and Eddie was honestly impressed at how well the other man could sing. Most of the time they would just hoot, and squawk along with whatever was playing, but that was just for shits and giggles. Richie could really belt when he wanted to, and Eddie never wanted to kiss anyone more in his entire life.

“I’m going to Dr. Records some time this weekend to see if Kirk’ll give me a job.” Richie said, avoiding Eddie’s gaze and trying to seem casual. “If you want I could put in a word-“ 

“No, it’s fine.” Eddie was ultimately grateful, but knew deep down that even with the help of all the Losers, this was personal. “I appreciate it, really. It’s just…this is something I have to do on my own.“ He could clearly picture the act of leaving Derry, but when it came to how and when, things always began to blur. He had dreamed up more than a couple scenarios about how his departure would go, and none of them involved telling his mother. Maybe, he wouldn’t tell her at all…

  
“We can just get in your car after graduation and leave…go to New York, or something…” Eddie trailed off; a little surprised he had said that last bit out loud.

Richie looked surprised as well, but grinned all the same. “I think we can make that happen.” He had reached out to touch Eddie’s arm in a movement of solidarity, but his hand lingered a while longer rather than pulling away. 

Eddie kept running his tongue over the backs of his teeth, partly to check if there was anything he missed, but mostly to staunch the tingling sensation the mouthwash had left behind. He wondered then if maybe Richie’s mouth felt the same way, and if they kissed could he feel the same buzzing coming from his lips? They could do that now- no one would walk in on them. Their mouths were clean and Eddie’s tongue felt like a lit firecracker…

“I think you should kiss me now.” Eddie had meant to offer that as a suggestion, but it had come out like an order.

He felt Richie’s hand give a light squeeze around his arm. He couldn’t read the emotion as it flashed behind hazy blue eyes, but actions spoke louder than words. Eddie felt the momentum of his body being pulled, and the gap between them close. Richie was a full head taller than him so he had to hunch where he stood in order to make it work. Eddie had wound up stepping on his toes, but none of that mattered right now. This was years of longing. _The feeling of longing_ , coming out all at once under a bright bathroom light, with burning gums and sore muscles. Why had they waited so long? They could have been doing this for ages, and every kiss would still feel like the first. 

Eddie was full of surprises this past twenty four hours, and he could tell Richie wasn’t used to it, particularly not when Eddie decided he was going to stick his tongue in Richie’s mouth. That definitely was unexpected, very bold. 

He had never quite understood the concept of French kissing; what it had to do with France, and why it was done in the first place. Nobody came into the world knowing how to make out with someone. You watched the rom-com your mom was watching before she fell asleep in her chair. You saw the protagonist and the love interest play tonsil-hockey and prayed to god that when the day came for someone to kiss _you_ , you could figure it out. The idea that anyone would want to mingle saliva in such an invasive manner was so disgusting-so wonderful. No, _disgusting_. No, _wonderful_. _Shit._

Richie was letting Eddie lead, which was honestly a smart move. Eddie was fully aware of the person he was, and how people saw him. They weren’t wrong, necessarily, but Richie didn’t coddle him, didn’t try to “save” him, and knew he was strong. This was more about control than anything else. Control was something Eddie didn’t get very often, and Richie understood that. He let Eddie move things at his own pace and that made him want to kiss his grinning _stupid_ face even more. One kiss and the dam had broken. He just wanted to be closer, more contact, more touching, just _more._

Tongues slipped past parted lips, and Richie made a noise that was equal parts nervous and thrilled; a breathy laugh, followed by a brief fumbling hand, taking off his glasses because they kept getting knocked askew by Eddie’s forehead. Okay, so they weren’t great at this, but what they lacked in experience, they more than made up for with enthusiasm. 

They pulled away only for a minute, flushed and drunk with affection; excited by the “newness” of it all. Eddie thought he knew everything there was to know about Richie, someone he had been in love with for years. Now he was realizing that there was so much more to discover. It was like when Richie unlocked a character’s special move list in one of his videogames. _Oh, I didn’t know he could do that. If I kiss the corners of his mouth, he smiles. If I run my fingers through his hair, he shivers and makes some very nice noises. If I press the x-button he jumps, and by x-button, I mean-_

“Hey, hey! Whoa-haha. Okay.” Richie said breathlessly, pulling away and leaning on the bathroom counter. “We gotta stop.” 

Eddie began to apologize, but Richie quickly stopped him. “No, nothing wrong. Everything right. Too right.” Richie pointed down in acknowledgment and Eddie started to chuckle. He knew Rich had to be embarrassed, but he couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t laughing because it was funny, he was laughing because he felt accomplished and adulated. _I did that._ He thought, proudly. 

He watched the taller man push his dark hair out of his face and hide his lower half with his palms. _His neck gets blotchy when he’s flustered. Good to know._

“This is gonna be a problem, I can see it now.” 

“Oh, you’ll be _fine_.” Eddie poised, patting the disheveled boy on the shoulder. “Just think about something else. It’s all in your head.”

“It’s definitely all in my _head_.” 

“Shut up.” The smaller man blustered, knowing he had walked right into that one. “It’s simple, just think about something scary or-“

* * *

 “I knew it!” Richie exclaimed, in much higher spirits now, slapping his palm to the counter like he was answering the question in a quiz show. “I knew you’d be the one to will away a boner.” _God, I love being right._ Richie thought, gleefully.

“I gotta know, though…if you’ll tell me…” He could tell by the look Eddie was giving him that this was the sort of question he should probably phrase delicately. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Yeah, I masturbate.” Eddie had guessed correctly, and Richie honestly felt a little stupid. Any time anyone opens with “can I ask you a personal question” it’s automatically a sex thing.

“I’m a guy, Rich. Of course I do.”

Richie gave a guilty sort of smile and shrugged his shoulders. He hadn’t expected Eddie to elaborate, but man he sure was batting a thousand today.

“Contrary to what my mother lead me to believe as a kid, I figured out pretty early on that it won’t make you go blind or give you hairy palms. It’s actually pretty healthy.”

An amused smile played across Richie’s face. He placed his fist up under his chin, and listened keenly. Hearing Eddie talk about this seemed a little forbidden. Sometimes it was easy to forget that under all of that cursory, finicky, melodrama Eddie was not as innocent and naïve as he would appear. It never failed to sideswipe Richie completely. He remembered the time Stan had showed him a nature documentary about birdcalls, and the raven had intrigued him the most. The mimicry of a human voice was so spot-on; you would have thought a grown man was the one calling the cameraman a “pretty bird, such a pretty bird.” The same applied here. It sounded like Eddie, it looked like Eddie, but what he was saying sounded like it should be coming from someone else. Richie had always assumed that if by chance he and Eddie _did_ get together, they would be taking things at a glacial pace, which was fine! He wasn’t in any rush, even if he was still more-or-less a virgin at eighteen. If they were together, he was golden. Given their little morning tryst, however, Richie was starting to grasp the fact that maybe things would be going a little quicker than he had originally thought. Eddie had touched him, and he thought he would die right then and there.

“It reduces stress, boosts your mood, and even helps prevent prostate cancer.” Eddie finished his little lesson with a sweeping hand gesture; _the more you know_ , and Richie clapped, feeling assured that given that information, he would never have to worry about prostate cancer at the very least. “Thank you for that helpful information, Dr. K.”

“I would do it more often if I had the privacy.”

“What, your mom doesn’t hold it for you?” _Why am I like this?_

Eddie thankfully ignored his little comment. He offered only an exhausted eye roll and continued. “I can only do it once a day, _maybe_ …in the shower. That way I don’t have to clean it up…”

“I mean, I don’t know about you but I could definitely go for a shower.” Richie was only half kidding, but Eddie merely smirked and brushed past him, out the door and back down the hallway toward the bedroom. 

Richie got up off the edge of the counter and sighed. The sensations in his groin had been subsiding since they had stopped fooling around, but not by much. He considered then taking Eddie’s advice and thinking about something terrible. _What’s the worst thing I can think of? Werewolves…the Paul Bunyan statue at the City Center…clowns…got that thing about eyeballs I can't really place..._

“Huh, how bout that...” He said quietly to himself. It was definitely working, just not as quickly as he would have liked. He screwed his eyes shut and focused all of his energy on visualizing it. The longer he spent in here “willing his problem away” the less time he could have alone with Eddie before school. _Think faster. The Paul Bunyan statue dressed up as a werewolf clown, with his dead eyes, and his psychotic smile…_

* * *

Back in the bedroom, Richie walked in to find a now fully clothed Eddie sitting cross-legged on his bed. He had laid out a clean shirt, a pair of socks and a wind breaker while Eddie was still asleep. It pleased him more than he could really express to see Eddie wearing his shirt, the one with The Doors on it. Like, giving a girl your letterman jacket in the good ole days.

“I could definitely get used to seeing you in my clothes." 

Eddie didn’t turn to look at him, but Richie could see a vague smile turn up at his cheeks. He was holding a yellow something or other in his hand, studying it carefully. It was Richie’s midterm report, that had been lying neglected on his desk for close to a week. 

“I take it you didn’t show your parents…” Again, this was mostly meant as a rhetorical question, but Richie just shook his head and sat at the adjacent corner, taking the 11”12 piece of cardstock and casually throwing it over his shoulder. “You could be valedictorian with grades like this.”

“No point.” He said, simply. “They only care about the bad grades.”

Richie had gotten straight A’s since elementary school (unless you count demerits for poor conduct), and he knew he was fucking smart. Grades like this could get him into any college he wanted, full scholarship and all. That would be wonderful if that were what Richie wanted. He didn’t. He knew which side his bread was buttered, and that was in the arts; be it singing or voice acting. Move to LA,  _or New York_ , and become famous. That was the goal. It made him feel guilty, like he was wasting all of this potential while the rest of his friends studied until their eyes crossed. Even when he asked to cheat off one of their tests, it was more of a safety net than anything else. He didn’t need to copy anyone’s answers, but it made him feel secure. _What if this is the one I fail?_ Playing like a broken record in his mind. There was still a childish part of him that wanted his parent’s approval, even if he knew he was never going to get it. 

“Besides…” He had suddenly gotten off the bed; walked to the closet and threw the doors open with great flourish. “I got a reputation to uphold.” He turned to Eddie then, raising a seductive brow and doing his best Mae West impression. “You know what they say, when I’m good I’m very good, but when I’m bad I’m bettah.” Mae West was the only woman he could impersonate, having to do with both her vocal register, and the fact that he liked her swagger. 

The way Richie saw it, he didn’t need anyone to know about his grades. Attention to that would only elevate his status as King Nerd instead of King Trashmouth. He was already skinny, near-sighted, and obnoxious, with a face that shouted ‘punch me’; and a ventriloquist dummy tucked into the very closet he was standing in front of. On top of being gay, or bi, or whatever he was, did he really need to give the general public more ammunition? The thought stunk like yesterday’s garbage and all he could do was tell himself that he didn’t care. He didn’t care until he thought about the time Henry and Company had beaten him until he cried, and for what? See all of the above. 

Appearance wise, not much had changed. Aside from straighter teeth, and a growth spurt, he dressed nearly the same every single day; t-shirt, with or without a band logo, flannel or bowling shirt, jeans that were either too short or too baggy, and shitty, ratty vans. Seeing the two of them together was like night and day. Richie always looked like the human embodiment of disorganization and Eddie was…Eddie: cute, clean, and pleasant. Cute was always the first word that came to mind when he thought of Eddie. It was right on par with brave, amazing, wonderful, funny…he could go on. It was cute when he rolled his eyes, but still laughed at Richie’s awful jokes. It was cute when he got frustrated and talked with his hands, and it was especially cute that instead of letting Richie wallow in his own personal pity-party, Eddie had walked over to him and lifted himself up on his toes to kiss him. Just one chaste peck on the lips, but still, that was all he needed.

They stayed there a moment longer and listened to the rain fall, but jumped back like they had been struck by lightening when they heard footsteps approach and a sudden, sharp knock. It was Maggie. She swung open the door, her eyes moved from Richie to Eddie in one continuous motion.

“Oh, hi Eddie. I didn’t know you were here. Did you spend the night?” She extended a slender finger to point at the shirt he was wearing, and Eddie nodded.

“Your mother know you’re here?” Her tone was pretty mild, conversational and polite. She wasn’t mad, wasn’t surprised, just neutral.

Richie was about to speak when he heard Eddie gasp. 

“Oh, shit! My mother.” Eddie’s eyes were wide and panicked, and his hands fluttered helplessly by his side the way they did when he was about to have an asthma attack. Richie watched bemusedly as the boy opened the window and clambered out, shaking the limbs of the tree and getting himself thoroughly soaked.

Maggie’s expression switched from neutral to bewildered in a matter of seconds. She wanted to call after him, but her voice only came out as a mumble. “You can use the front d-…okay.”

Richie exchanged a glance with his mother and sniffed. "Kids today, am I right?" He crossed to the window and poked his head out in time to see Eddie jump from the lowest hanging bough and land like a cat on his feet. 

“Eds!” Richie called, giggling helplessly as Eddie sprinted through his backyard and out the side gate. “I’ll pick you up in twenty!”


	9. Tuesday. November 4, 1994 (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for being so patient. The last two weeks have been crazy. I'm going to try to keep up with the bi-weekly posting just so I don't overwhelm myself. I hope that's okay.
> 
> As a reward, here's a semi-spicy chapter. NSFW-ish. There's some grinding and so forth...
> 
> (Playlist link)[(x)](https://open.spotify.com/user/kaytayzombay/playlist/2uMIPaj7hABR5l53Ii33JA)

**_Ships that pass in the night_ ** _, and speak each other in passing,_

_Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;_

_So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another,_

_Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence._

_-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_

“Do I even want to know?”

Maggie’s eyes lingered at the window a moment longer before she re-directed her attention to her son. Her eyes were glazed over, and Richie couldn’t help but notice that she always seemed to wear the same puzzled expression when regarding him. She looked like she was studying him like a specimen, rather than recognizing him as kin…as her spawn.

Richie had taken his glasses off and was wiping them on the front of his shirt. He wasn’t angry, but the urge to break the false normalcy his mother was projecting spilled out of his mouth with ease. 

“I dunno, Maggie. Do you ever _really_ wanna know?”

Truth be told, he hated talking to her like this. She was trying. Unlike his father, his mother tried. She tried to find the humor in his crassness, she tried to show an interest, she tried to understand. She tried until the day his sister was born, and that was the day Richie knew they would never be close. She could finally have someone to mold; someone like her. 

Richie and Maggie alike would never admit they were two sides of the same coin, but there was no denying one another. They had the same blue eyes, deep blue like morning glories. They had the same smattering of freckles, the same crooked smile, but the resemblance was lost when they opened their mouths. Richie had a sharp tongue like his father, that lashed and sliced through weak-willed people like a hot knife through butter.

She rolled her eyes when being addressed by her first name, but didn’t correct him. She could remember the exact day, the exact moment when her son stopped calling her “Mommy”, and even more so when he stopped calling her “Mom.” Mom was shortened to “Ma” and had quickly, almost overnight, devolved into “Maggie.” She was wondering if “Maggie” would turn into “Mags” before finally becoming nothing at all when Richie spoke again. 

“You wanted to tell me something?” 

“Yes, actually. Your dad and I are-“

“Going away for the weekend, so you want me to stick around and take care of the house.”

He finished for her and Maggie looked only slightly affronted.

“I really wish you wouldn’t interrupt me, but yes. We’re leaving Friday morning, and we should be back around eight on Monday.”

“What about-“  
  
“She’ll be with Monica.” Maggie said with a smirk.

Richie knew he had deserved that. At the very least he wouldn’t be responsible for his sister, she was her friend’s problem and that was a-ok by him. He had gotten used to having the house to himself, and had somewhat grown to like it. As long as his music was playing, it wasn’t so empty, and he could drink directly from the carton.

“We’ll be leaving you enough money for groceries, but that doesn’t cover anything extra. Your father and I were talking about you getting a job at his office. Filing clerk…”

Richie raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “Already got a job lined up at Dr. Records.” He didn’t, but he and Kirk-the owner- were tight. He had given that old geezer a lot of business. Besides, hell would have to freeze over before he even considered going to work with Wentworth. 

“Fine.” She said, throwing the dishtowel over her shoulder and turning to leave, but first she stopped and pointed to the half-open window once more. “Is Eddie alright?” 

 _He’s not even your kid._ Richie thought, somewhat bitterly.

“I saw Sonia at the store the other day…arguing with the manager about a bunch of grapes that had fallen on the floor-telling him someone could slip and break their leg. I just-I feel so bad for him-having a mother like that…” 

 _Oh ho ho…please don’t make this so easy for me._ The comebacks were locked and loaded. Sonia Kaspbrak was a bitch and a half, but it was the principle of it all. _Having a mother like what? A mother who fucking cares? A mother who would freak out if her kid didn’t show up at home for dinner?_ He wanted to say these things, but he didn’t. _What the fuck is the point…_

“He’s gonna be just fine after he goes to the huge rager I’m gonna throw while you’re gone. Picture this with me…” Richie extended his arms outward, using his thumbs and pointer fingers like a frame. “Hookers and blow! The whole shebang, people passed out in the front lawn, pukin’ in the belonias.” 

“Begonias…” Maggie said loftily, officially checked out of the conversation, most likely picturing the flowers just outside the front door. 

“Whatever.”

Richie threw on his hideous neon windbreaker over his flannel. It gave everyone within eyesight tunnel vision. It was kaleidoscope black and white with rainbow triangles clashing in the center. Richie genuinely thought it was fly, but he looked like a confused clown, going through a grunge phase.[(x)](http://img0.etsystatic.com/il_570xN.100933920.jpg)

He slung his book-bag over one shoulder and motioned to the door. “After you.”

They parted ways at the bottom of the staircase, him turning right, and her turning left: she on her way to iron her blouse, and he, keys in hand, making towards the front door. These were their moments now, brief moments of resentment and inevitable unspoken words, passing like ships in the night.

* * *

There was a shoebox of cassettes tucked under the passenger seat, of all genres and styles. Most of them were acquired through yard sales, Dr. Records, Goodwill…

It was treated like a grab bag of sorts. Mornings like this, the radio was abandoned in favor of a blind selection.

Richie lets his fingers walk down the row, stopping in no place in particular to mark his pick of the day.

“What’we got? Oh, Siouxsie Sioux, don’t mind if I dooo.”

It was so much easier to think-hell to function, when music was playing. Richie was of the firm belief that you could tell a lot about a person from the bands they liked, the songs that resonated with them the most.

Take the Losers for instance: Ben loved New Kids on the Block, and Billy Joel, which meant he was a hopeless romantic, and also had horrible taste. Beverly was a fan of strong female vocalists that only highlighted her independence and boldness like Joan Jett and Blondie. Stanley liked Hall & Oates, and Paul Simon; classic and reliable, just like the man himself. Bill was into The Pixies, The Depeche Mode and Joy Division: dark, spontaneous and emotional, with a small deviation towards The Grateful Dead. Mike was cool, calm, and collected, so naturally his musical preferences regarding Prince, Queen, and Michael Jackson made perfect sense.

Richie’s personal taste in music was eclectic, and would only serve to show an outsider that he was multifaceted…and a mess. The only other person with such a vast musical repertoire was Eddie. He could go from Bowie, to Duran Duran- Dexy’s Midnight Runners to Toto. He liked it all, just like Richie, and that was a beautiful, beautiful thing. They were stuck in a time warp as far as current hits were concerned, but to be fair, 1994 was a weird year for music, especially after the death of Kurt Cobain.

The air around him filled with synth, guitar, and drums. _Cities in Dust_ caroled through the speakers, and Richie tried his damnedest to sing along best he could. It wasn’t exactly an easy song. He couldn’t sing Prince, either. Try as he might.

 _“O-oh…oh your city lies in du-uhst, my friend. Oh-_ fuck that’s high _…city lies in dust, my friend.”_

When he pulled in front of Eddie’s house he was mildly concerned to see that the boy wasn’t standing at the end of the driveway as per usual. He hoped Eddie had made it home in time to sneak past his mother, but maybe he hadn’t? Maybe he got caught and was grounded until graduation. It was cold, and Eddie had been soaked to the bone, so it wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities for him to actually get sick. Sonia would have a fucking field day with that. 

Richie would swear up and down that Sonia _wanted_ her son to get sick, just so she could have the satisfaction of being right. There were times he wanted nothing more than to throttle her…or at the very least, sit down and explain how she was stunting her son; how she needed to let go before she lost him forever. He would tell her that Eddie was strong, and brave, and just as capable as everyone else.

Not that she would listen to the likes of him. It hadn’t always been this way. She used to like Richie. She used to like him a lot, and practically beg Eddie to have him over more often. He had a good charade of character going for a little while. Richard: the clean-cut, church-going, straight A student; although the latter was true, Eddie breaking his arm in the company of the Losers had effectively shot that horse in the face. 

_But it was Henry Bowers' fault. Or was it? We were...we were at Neibolt._

As much as Richie bitched about his own parents, they had nothing on Sonia Kaspbrak. She was smothering Eddie into an early grave, snuffing out his fire, and filling him with guilt and anxiety…

But Eddie still loved her, in spite of everything. That was the only thing keeping Richie from really giving that mega-cunt a piece of his mind. Instead, he just settled for jokes at her expense. 

Richie leaned back in his seat, only to sit right back up again so he could clean the fog forming on the windshield. He was too absorbed in the task at hand to notice Eddie slogging across the front lawn to the passenger side door. 

The sound of the door creaking open had startled him, his arm shooting out wildly and connecting with the rearview mirror with a thud. He recoiled, hissing and shaking the pain from his hand. 

“Heh, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Richie collected himself with a calming breath, before looking over, and down. “I see you remembered your rubbers.” He noted, already in a far better mood. 

Eddie let out a deep, doleful sigh and dramatically threw himself into the seat, closing the door with another exaggerated groan.

“God, I wish she would just call them rain-boots.”

 _Rubbers_ were what Eddie’s mom called wellingtons, or goulashes, and it never failed to make Richie laugh. 

“Then I wouldn’t be able to say _Eddie-bear, don’t forget your rubbers!_ ” 

“It’s not _that_ funny.” Eddie said, casting an annoyed squint in Richie’s direction. 

“You’re right.” Richie nodded, and patted the top of Eddie’s thigh. “ It’s not funny. It’s _hilarious._ ” 

“So’s your face.” Eddie quipped, and gave Richie the finger.

Richie merely grimaced, gave an equally enthusiastic thumbs down, and blew a raspberry. “Boooo. F minus. You can do way better than that.”

Eddie sniffed and fastened his seatbelt. “Fine. I see your _Eddie-bear, don’t forget your rubbers_ , and I raise you: Whatever you say, Bucky Beaver.”

A flash of reverie materialized in front of Richie’s eyes, but nonetheless, he felt the sharp pang of pride that always followed Eddie’s sass. No one had called him that since he had gotten his braces off back in sophomore year. 

“Much better.” He took Eddie’s hand in his and gave him a light kiss on the knuckles. “Asshole.”

_

The way Eddie reacted; you’d think Richie had called him sweetheart, or darling. “Thanks, fuck-face.” He replied, amiably.

Eddie spent the first few minutes of the drive talking about how he had just barely managed to get into his house undetected. His mother usually got up around five minutes after his own alarm went off at seven. She would go to the bathroom, go down to make coffee, lie out Eddie’s vitamins, and go outside for the paper. The story was taking longer than he wanted because Richie kept interjecting, and Eddie had to stop mid-sentence to blurt out “look at the road, Rich. Rich, the road. Hey, watch the road.” 

“I told her I got up early to bring in the paper so she- dude, seriously- so she didn’t have to walk out in the rain, and that you and I were trying to head to school early so we could get a study group going.” 

He felt lousy lying to his mother, but in the same vain he felt fully justified. Lying begot lying, after all. Richie snorted, and Eddie shrugged.

“I know, I know. Amateur, but I panicked. I didn’t know what else to tell her. Like, Oh yeah, Ma, I spent the night at Richie’s because I snuck out in the middle of the night. How did you sleep?” 

“You could always tell her the truth?” Richie suggested, facetiously as they slowed to a stop at a red light. “Hey Ma, you’re gonna have to find someone else to stuff your muffin cause Richie’s taken.”

Eddie turned to look at Richie then, disgusted, but also a little rosy. He had been thinking about this conversation since last night, and now was as good a time as any, right? 

“Does that mean we’re together?” 

The car lurched forward suddenly, before coming to a halt again. Richie’s foot had slipped off the brakes, and Eddie could practically hear the gears turning in the other man’s head.

He wasn’t trying to send Richie into cardiac arrest, and he certainly didn’t want things to move prematurely either, but come on? This was the natural progression. They hadn’t been on a real date before, but cut out the kissing and they had gone on roughly hundreds of dates. 

“That depends…” Richie said slowly, like he was testing out the sound of his voice. He bit his lip and considered the concept for a moment before he started, a shrewd grin widening at the corners of his mouth. “Is that what you want? All’a this? You ready for a slice of this beefcake?” He gestured up and down his body, and Eddie couldn’t help himself from offering a maudlin smile. 

“Shockingly, yeah.” 

“Well, that’s all the convincing I needed.”

* * *

 

The senior parking lot was still relatively empty, but Richie had made a not-so-subtle point of parking all the way in the back, to the last tree-lined row, before finally turning off the ignition.

They sat in a tense silence for a few minutes and Richie glanced at his watch. 

“We uh…still got fifteen minutes before the first bell.” He murmured. 

Eddie’s eyes remained locked on the space immediately in front of him, and his breath was now visible, puffing out of his mouth like a steam engine. He could only nod and eek out a small “Mhm…” before going silent again.

The tree that loomed overhead was dropping thick drips of leftover rain on the hood of the car and the sound matched up with the thump of Eddie’s heart. Richie was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and chewing on his bottom lip. Finally, the silence was broken, and Eddie gave a little jump upon hearing the other man speak up. 

“Wanna make out?” 

“God, yes.”

Eddie had suspected they would just lean over, but was confused when instead Richie hopped out of the car and closed the door. He threw up his hands and whispered “What the fuck…” finally understanding once the back door opened and Richie’s slid in, running his hands over the tops of his thighs and smirking.

“Come have a seat.”

Instead of mimicking Richie’s actions, Eddie toed his boots off and climbed over the center console, ducking so he didn’t hit his head. All the while his mind raced at a dizzying pace. _Okay, okay. It’s fine. It’s gonna be fine. You have no fucking clue what you’re doing right now, but neither does he, right? I mean he’s had more practice kissing, obviously, but that doesn’t matter. If I maybe act like I know what I’m doing; instinct just takes over, right?_

“Scoot, so I don’t knee you in the junk.” Eddie said, one foot already planted on the back seat. 

Richie did so, and Eddie grunted, hovering over the other's lap with a huff, kneeling on either side of Richie’s legs. He could feel the other’s hand snake around his waist as they came together for a quick kiss.

It was already a compromising position, and the lower Richie’s hands roamed; the harder it was for Eddie to keep his composure.

“Hey, not so fast.” Eddie mumbled into Richie’s parted mouth, reaching back to drag larger hands back to the tops of his hips. “Paws off.” He took a moment to steel himself before persisting on, planting a kiss to the corner of Richie's smile. He trailed slowly over and down; from his chin, to his jaw, until he let out a breath at the crook of Richie’s neck.

Everything was going swimmingly, until he felt his face smash between Richie’s head and collarbone. The taller man had jerked his shoulder upwards and let out a noise that sounded like radio static mixed with a high-pitched giggle.

“Hehe-eeee…sorry. Sorry. I’m sorry I’m just-ah!” Eddie had reduced Richie to an incoherent babbling mess. Eddie had almost forgotten that Richie’s neck was like, his weakest point. It was the closest thing to an off-button the Losers had ever discovered. 

He recalled briefly a day at the quarry when Mike had picked a cattail out of the brush and dangled the fluffy end jokingly around Richie’s neck, and _boy_ did he screech. For the rest of the day Richie had been so jumpy, never turning his back to Mike who kept the torture going for close to an hour until Richie had finally flung himself into the water to escape. 

“Sorry for what?” Eddie asked, feigning an air of innocence. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I was just wondering what would happen if I kissed you-“

He leaned back in and another ripple of cajoled laughter escaped Richie's mouth.

“-here.” 

“Bastard.” Richie rasped, moving his hands now to the tops of Eddie’s thighs and squeezing. “You’re in so much trouble.” 

“I don’t think so.” Eddie chided, voice carrying shrewdly like a song. “I feel like I have the upper hand here.” He was enjoying this, maybe a little too much. It wasn’t often he had the upper hand on anyone. “I could just…” 

Slowly, he lowered himself down onto Richie’s lap, shifting himself, one, to try to get comfortable, and two, to make the man underneath him squirm. “…do this...”

Eddie held onto Richie's shoulders and squeezed to try and keep himself from shaking. He was on a roll and Richie was underneath him, pressing into him and cursing, he couldn’t let his nerves win. He wanted this, goddamnit, and no one could convince him that what he was feeling was wrong; not God, not his mother, not…not… 

“Ho-shit. Shit…” Richie gasped, hiding his face in Eddie’s shirt and rocking himself upwards. “Goddamn, Eds…what are you tryin’ to do to me?”

“Drive you insane?” Eddie offered, lacing his fingers together behind Richie’s head and pulling him into another kiss.

_

Richie was on the verge of a crisis, and knew that he was digging his fingers into Eddie’s thighs a little harder than necessary, definitely enough to leave a mark. He felt like he was going to pass out in the midst of this rush of endorphins and building arousal, but Eddie was in control here. It was full blown sensory overload and the more Eddie persisted, the foggier everything became. 

 _Who knew Eddie would be such a tease?_ Every time Eddie would grind into him, he would stop just short of causing a loop of sensation. This sort of sexual red light-green light was too much, but holy shit, so fucking worth it.

Their lips were formed together; there was a tongue in his mouth, a hand on his dick, and a hand…on _Oh my fucking god. His hand is on my dick. This is not a drill._

He had enough sense in his hormone addled brain to realize that it wasn’t an accidental grazing slip, but that Eddie was laying his hand deliberately on the crotch of his jeans. 

 _Holy fuck. Holy shit._ Kim Basinger herself could tap-dance naked in front of his car at that exact moment and Richie wouldn’t have even looked up. He was so absorbed in this place, this moment in time…Eddie was saying his name, and it felt like a dream. If it was a dream, he never wanted to fucking wake up. 

“Richie…” Eddie whispered into his ear and let his lips linger on his lobe. He could hear the smile in his voice and all Richie could do was look up at him; so flushed and dazed. 

“Hm?” _You’re beautiful._

“It’s time for class.”


	10. Tuesday. November 4, 1994 (Part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this has taken so long. I'm sorry for this chapter, too. It's a bit of a filler. I have kept you guys waiting so long, and you've been so good to me. I promise the next chapter will be longer, full of fluff and all that cute shit. They have a date coming up and a long weekend. 
> 
> TW for f-slur.

_“Maybe there aren't any such things as good friends or bad friends - maybe there are just friends, people who stand by you when you're hurt and who help you feel not so lonely. Maybe they're always worth being scared for, and hoping for, and living for. Maybe worth dying for too, if that's what has to be. No good friends. No bad friends. Only people you want, need to be with; people who build their houses in your heart.”_  
_― Stephen King, It_

 _“It’s time for class.”_

“Huh-what?” The space on Richie’s lap Eddie had been occupying was abandoned quickly and it took him a moment to process what was going on. It had to be a joke. 

Eddie was lifting himself up to climb back over the seat and Richie scrambled momentarily in an attempt to pull him back. “Wait, wait. You serious?” His voice was scratchy and desperate, and he honestly figured Eddie was just as keyed up as he was. His fingers brushed the back of Eddie’s raincoat, but the effort was futile. He already had one boot on… 

The passenger door creaked open, and Richie watched as Eddie grabbed his book bag. He spared no glance in the other boy’s direction, and only flashed a brief smirk before closing the door and giving the hood a tap. 

Richie collapsed into the backseat, hitting his head, his ego just as bruised. 

“Fuckin’ rad…” He grumbled, rubbing the bump forming just under the base of his skull, a rough whine parting his lips. 

Richie wasn’t above pouting, but that would serve no purpose. It’s not like Eddie owed him anything. Being pent up with no pay off twice in one morning was a bit much, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He wasn’t a teenager anymore; that shit would just have to wait. Besides, he should be grateful all of his wildest fucking dreams were even coming true in the first place. Eddie Kaspbrak wanted to kiss him, and…date him. They were dating. Together. _Wild._  

The sun was peaking through the storm clouds that had gathered in his brain, and he hummed contentedly to himself. Relentless tease or not, Eddie was his… _boyfriend_ now? _Already throwin’ out the b word, huh?_ Yes, boyfriend. They were boyfriends. 

God, he didn’t know the first fucking thing about being someone’s boyfriend. _Does this mean things change completely now? Can we still make fun of each other? Who pays for what since we’re both dudes? Does Eddie like flowers? Who can we tell? Who can’t we tell?_

Richie grabbed his book bag out of the car, and slammed the door, cursing lightly as his glasses fogged up. He blindly forced his keys into the door and locked it, cleaning the lenses on his shirt yet again. _I gotta find that stupid cleaning cloth thingy…_ He made a mental note to look for it when he got home. 

He looked ahead to see Eddie making his way to the main building at a snail’s pace. _Perfect._ Richie thought to himself, making up the distance between them and coming to Eddie’s side, knocking their shoulders together with a nudge.

“Thought you could get rid of me that easy, huh?” 

“Caught on to that, did ya?” Eddie simpered. His face hardened suddenly, and he let out a long-suffering sigh. “This relationship was actually designed to kill you.” 

“I knew it…” Richie whispered, dramatically, casting himself off of Eddie’s shoulder and covering his eyes with his arm. His voice broke into fake falsetto cries of, “I knew you were too good to be true!” and “How could you do this, Eddie? If that is your real name…” 

“Hmm-I’m afraid that’s classified.” Eddie was breaking. The tell-tale strained hint of a giggle lilted his voice ever so slightly. Just a little bit more, and he’d be laughing. Richie could listen to that laugh all day. 

“You’re tearing this family apart!” Richie shouted, a little louder than he needed to, and the other students that had begun to arrive turned to look at their little display. Eddie had that wide-eyed look on his face that usually accompanied a “Beep, beep Richie” but he was on a roll, and just couldn’t help himself. 

“Look at what you’re doing to our son!” He gestured both hands to poor Brian McMillan, a freshman, who had made the mistake of crossing their path, and was as confused as he was frightened. 

 _"Shut the fuck up, Tozier. It’s too goddamn early for this.”_ Came from a pack of senior boys, shuffling together to their immediate left. 

Eddie placed a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh and shook his head. “Okay, okay. If I promise to be a double agent, tell you all my secrets in exchange for your allegiance, will that make you happy?” 

At this, Richie perked up and grinned. “Happy as a pig in shit.”

* * *

 

Eddie craned his neck momentarily, squinting the other Losers into focus. The four of them stood dutifully by the flagpole in the bitter cold, as per usual. Ben waved first, but Eddie noticed, what was it? _Relief?_  wash over all of them. He and Richie were here together and suddenly all was right with the world. 

 _Well, they definitely aren’t wrong. But we aren’t Lucky Seven anymore…will we ever be?_ Sometimes he missed Beverly so much it hurt, Richie too, only he wasn’t one to show it. The resentment at Bev’s failure to keep in touch made Richie unbearably sad, but bring it up to him and he was all jokes.

The boy was brought back to reality as Richie crowed the words to _Here Comes Your Man_ by the Pixies. The words were all the same, except instead of _man_ Richie replaced it with _Stan._  

“Here comes your Stan…” He crooned, mimicking the sound of the guitar. “Here comes your Staaaaaan…” 

Stan, Stoic-Stan cracked a rare smile. It was obvious he was pleased to see Richie, _happy Richie_ , once more. “Good morning, you enormous pain in my ass.”

“Ya mean, tuches? I’m a pain in your tuches.” The use of the Yiddish word Stan undoubtedly regretted telling Richie made the man roll his eyes. “Don’t say _tuches_ like you know what you’re talking about, you goy.” 

“Goy?” Mike raised an eyebrow, clearly amused and settling back into the comfortable normalcy of group dynamics. It was safe to say everyone was glad Richie Tozier had bounced back. If one was upset, they were all upset. 

“Goyim. It just means not Jewish.” Stan explained, and Richie’s face took on a puzzled expression. 

“Wait, I thought that was shiksa? You always call me a shiksa.” 

Eddie looked to Stan whose grey eyes reflected just the slightest hint of deviance. He honestly loved Richie and Stan’s friendship. It was unlike anyone else’s, and what should have made Eddie jealous, only served to make him see Richie more fondly. Like brothers separated at birth, separated by faith, they shared something special.

“I just call you a shiksa, Trashmouth. It’s…a term of endearment.” [1] 

“Stan Uris loves me, everyone! You heard it here first.” He pulled the exhausted man into a bear hug, and planted a loud cartoon-sounding smooch on his pale cheek, to which Stan groaned. 

“God, you’re worse than a damn dog.” Words betrayed tone, yet again. Even Stan was unable to deny Richie’s weird star-power, smiling in spite of himself. 

Ben snickered, hanging back momentarily so the rest could squeeze through the main door. “Like a big perverted Labrador. It’s good to see you laughing, man.” Ben clapped a hand on Richie’s back, which made him beam.

They stood in the hallway like that for a moment, arms linked around each other’s shoulders in an odd football huddle. The warmth radiated off each of them in waves, like come hell or high water, nothing could come between them. It felt right that they were all still here, weathering the storm together. It felt _like fate._

* * *

 

They had to split at the intersection of corridors A and B. Even they weren’t lucky enough to get six lockers in a row next to one another. Eddie, Mike and Stan down one, and Bill, Richie and Ben down the other. They nodded their silent “goodbyes” shoes squeaking on the linoleum as they departed.

Eddie was becoming hyper-aware that his rubbers were made the loudest noise, and it set his teeth on edge. 

Mike fiddled with his lock and eyed Eddie briefly before asking “Doing better today, Eddie? See you and Richie aren’t fighting anymore, thank god…” 

Eddie felt his cheeks burn, and he faltered momentarily, pulling notebooks from their rightful places and dumping them into his bag without looking. _Do I tell Mike now, or do we wait til we are all together again? I should prolly ask Richie first..._

“Really great, yeah. Richie and I are…great. Today is going great!” He smiled thinly and Mike gave him another once over. 

“Great?” Mike countered, raising both eyebrows and leaning forward expectantly. 

Eddie staggered a moment, no longer meeting Mike’s gaze. He jerked his shoulder upwards and nodded. “Yeah, everything’s great. Plus, I haven’t been accosted yet today, so that’s nice…” 

“Nice boots, faggot.” Sneered Craig Roberts, resident dickhead: Greta Keene’s main squeeze with a thick neck, and a hell of a temper. 

“Aaand, there it is.” Eddie snorted through his nose and shook his head resentfully.

Mike wheeled around and made to walk after the towering troglodyte, but Eddie merely huffed.

“Let it go, Mike. No need to defend my honor, today.”

“He shouldn’t fucking talk to you like that.” Mike practically growled. It was rare for the normally well-mannered man to drop the f-bomb, and Eddie was honestly touched. 

Eddie smiled up at Mike, warmly and shrugged his shoulders. “If not him, then who? There’s always gonna be someone calling me a queer, fairy, faggot, cocksucker…” He counted them off on his fingers and Mike gave him a grave look. “Pick your favorite.” 

When push came to shove, Eddie's mouth shot off nearly as bad as Richie's. His temper was dwarfed only by his size, but any man would be a fool to underestimate him. Ben and the rest would often agree that Eddie had something somewhat a kin to a Napoleon complex, to which Eddie would respond that he was merely fiercely protective of the people he loved. He had a fire in his gut that never seemed to go out, unless doused by his blubbering mother’s tears. _Say what you want to me, break my arm, spit in my face, but don’t you touch my fucking friends._

A slur, derogatory term, a shove fueled by hate and Eddie saw red, but that was all of them if he was being honest with himself. He thought then, all the way back to the rock fight of ’89, and judging by the far away look on Mike’s face, he must have been too. That day they became seven, Lucky Seven, with Mike Hanlon, the memory, bringing them all together. They knew nothing about one another, other than the gravitational pull of each other's souls. The knowledge that they were strongest together.

“Mess with one of us, you mess with all of us…” Mike said fleetingly, his eyes still narrowed, following Craig’s form as he powered through the crowded hallway. 

They were both dimly aware that Stan had been listening to their conversation, to which he scoffed, shaking his head and hoisting his book-bag onto his back with a heave. “He’ll be taking our lunch money until the day he dies…”

Both Mike and Eddie looked at Stan then with exasperation, ready to nag him for being such a fatalist when they saw his eyes crinkle and a smile split his lips.

“He’ll never get passed the register at McDonald’s.”

* * *

“Mother _fucker_ -piece of _shit_ …” Richie jiggled the combination lock in his hand, pulling it this way and that, spinning the dial and cursing louder each time.

Bill stood in wait, equally impatient and entertained. “What the fuck is the huh-hold up?" 

“I’m trying to…change my locker combination-whatever, it doesn’t matter. You’d need a fucking engineering degree to figure this out…” Richie muttered darkly, giving the lock a final tug. 

“Someone need an engineer?” 

“Ben, my sweet Ben…” Richie groaned, turning his eyes pleadingly to meet his friend's, whining like a child. “Fix it?” 

Ben looked for an instant like he would refuse, but chortled anyway, waving a hand to move the taller man out of the way. “Aw hell, I can’t resist the puppy dog eyes...” 

“His one weakness.” Richie snickered, rubbing his hands together like a villain in an old black and white movie. He began to cackle nefariously and Bill flinched. 

“Beep, Beep, Richie.” 

Richie deflated somewhat, but his spirits weren’t dampened. “Don’t rain on my parade, Denbrough. What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

Bill looked away, and down like the answer was written on the tops of his shoes. “Nothing. It’s j-just that Bev…“

Ben stopped with the task at hand, and Richie could see his back tense at the mention of Beverly.

The act wasn’t lost on Bill either, but he continued offhandedly. “Bev just…hasn’t called me in a few days that’s all.” If the goal was to seem casual, Bill had failed miserably. Richie decided to let Bill have this, but flashed him a look which read _“We’re gonna talk about this later, yeah?”_

Bill nodded.

“I’m sure she’s just busy, doin’ far more interesting things than talking to a wet blanket like you.” Richie said, poking Bill in the stomach, which earned a hiss from the stuttering boy.

“Knock it ah-off, shit-bird.”

“Shit-bird?”

Ben had turned around for that one and Richie squawked with laughter.

“Oh, wow. That’s uh…that’s a new one. Creative.”

“So, what’s got you in such a good mood?” Ben asked, moving away from the locker. “You can put in a new one now...”

Richie turned his back to the two, spreading his legs out, trying to take up as much space as possible as he entered a new combination: _11-4-9-4._

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Richie chirped, happily, swaying back and forth, humming tunelessly. 

Bill and Ben looked equally tickled by this new version of Richie.

“Got a hot date, er something?” Ben joked.

“The hottest.” Richie confirmed. “Hazel eyes, soft hair, ass of an angel…” He sighed dreamily and spun around quickly on his heels. “The Aladdin on Thursday, and then I want you all to clear your schedules for the weekend. Mommy and Daddy-Dearest are going out of town again, so my house is the place to be." 

"Will this mystery person be there?" Ben asked, looking from Bill to Richie. Bill looked positively beside himself, like he was holding his breath, the pallor of his skin pink with anticipation; like he knew something Ben did not. 

"Don't you worry, Haystack. All will be revealed in time." 

It took everything in his power not to shout Eddie's name, out of sheer unbridled, stupid, reckless, happiness. 

 

[1] It is not a term of endearment. It’s a derogatory term for a non-Jewish woman. So, double insult really. Bad Stanley. **For the record, Stan and Richie have my second favorite friendship next to Richie and Bev. I'm not insinuating anything, cross my heart. 


	11. Thursday. November 6, 1994

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright losers, here you go. 
> 
> Before we get started, here are some brief warnings:
> 
> This is indeed a NSFW chapter, so jot that down. It also features quite a few homophobic as well as one xenophobic slur. I've put an asterisk at the beginning of the sentence where they are featured.  
> The chapter is a touch angsty, but that's the way it goes. 
> 
> Thank you all for being so patient. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> ((PS. I finally got to use my getting "Dick" out of "Richard" joke))
> 
> Their date is gonna happen next. I'm sorry for dragging it out, but it's just too much to squeeze into one chapter!

“I don’t make the rules, Eds. The name of your first pet, and the street you grew up on. That’s your porn-star name." 

 **“** What if you don’t have a pet? You know my mom won’t have animals in the house…”

“Then you go with your middle name.” Stan offered, using his plastic fork to point in Eddie’s direction. 

“Oh, sick.” Eddie's seemingly permanently dismayed face scrunched into a frown, and his rabbity mouth huffed. “That’s my dad’s name. That’s fucked up.” He tore his sandwich down the middle, and handed the other half to Richie, who dug in graciously.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be.” Stan deadpanned, taking his attention off of Eddie to glare at Richie, who was chewing with his mouth open.

“Heh, _I’ll say_.”

“Shut up, Richie.” 

“You got it, Colonel. Fluffy Jackson.” Richie gave a definitive salute to Stan, and the others erupted with staggered laughter. All except for Mike, who was looking down at the table, and shaking his head low, like a pendulum. 

“Ooh, Mike’s got a good one. I can tell.” Richie leaned forward expectantly, and made a brief show of licking his fingers. “Let’s hear it.” 

Mike began to speak, but his voice was high and strained, the laugh choking him, stuck in his throat. This only served to make the others laugh harder. 

“Alright-“ Mike grunted, clearing his throat. “Mr.-“ Another snort; followed by roiled laughter, and wheezing. 

“Mr. Chips Witcham.” 

The other boys exploded, in gales of hysterics and Mike looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head, a wide grin stretching his lips.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Chips. Rest in peace.” He thumped on his chest twice; kissed his fist and threw up the peace sign, and Richie responded with pouring out some of his Coke on the linoleum, much to Stan’s dismay. 

“What? Gotta pour one out for Mr. Chips!”

“Guys, guys guys…” Ben waved his hands outward like an umpire calling safe. One could tell from the look on his face that he was waiting to share his own porn name, and was in fact very proud.

They all leaned in close, each one sucking in a breath in wait.

“Penelope Broadway.” Ben said, conclusively, folding his arms over his broad chest and beaming. 

Bill let out a sudden barking laugh, which in turn set off Richie, which set of Eddie, and so forth until Coach Black approached them, and begrudgingly urged them to take it down a few decibels. 

“This is the lunch room, not baseball game.”

It took a few seconds for the group of unruly boys to calm down, stuttered giggles rising and falling like a manual car climbing up hill, until finally, they were composed. The coach’s eyes stayed fixed upon their table for a few minutes, but it didn’t help the situation. If one thing remained true and unanimous for boys, above all else, it was this: everything was funnier when you weren’t supposed to laugh. 

And Richie? Richie always seemed to take that as a personal challenge. He gave a slow wave in Coach Black’s direction and continued.

“I wouldn’t need a porn name.” He said with certainty. “It would just be my first name. Just _Richard_. Like, on a neon sign over a revolving bed.”

Bill snorted, cursed under his breath and punched Richie in the arm.

Eddie immediately started laughing again, his hand making contact with his mouth in order to muffle the sound. “RICHARD.” He repeated quietly, holding his hands up as if the name was displayed between them. “Oh god, I just got it. Dick- your name is Dick…" 

Richie was laughing again too: but only because Eddie own giggling was just too cute for color TV. 

Stan stopped long enough to put his hands on his head and sigh. “I just realized…I could have been calling you Dick this entire time. Fuck…all that wasted potential…” 

Eddie leaned back in his chair and pondered this new revelation. “That nickname makes zero sense though. How do you get Dick out of Richard?”

It took all of three seconds for Eddie to realize what he had done, and before he could tell Richie to shut up- 

“You ask me nicely.”  
  
“Okay, but was I talking to you!?” 

Bill was holding his sides, red-faced, and coughing. He almost looked like he was in pain, and Stan was nearly beside himself looking at this display.

“Bill, calm down, god.”

“Interesting fact about nicknames-“ Ben interrupted, pointing to Bill and Richie simultaneously. “How you get names like Dick from Richard and Bill from William.”

“This aughta be guh-good.” Bill choked out, perking up, and wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. He was genuinely interested, as the answer had always eluded him. 

“Back in the day…” Ben began, warmed by the expressions of his enraptured audience. “Whenever someone gave you a nickname, they were supposed to rhyme. So, William was Will-Bill, and Richard was…”

Ben’s face fell into his hands with a wild snort, and Mike put his head down on the table top and groaned. 

“Say it, Ben! I can’t handle this kind of anticipation. Speak the king’s English!” Richie urged, leaning over the table and holding Ben’s tittering weather-beaten face in his hands. 

“Rick-Dick.” Ben said, airily, patting the large rough hands on either side of his face. 

“Oh my _god_!” Richie had all but collapsed the table with the force he used to slam his fists to the surface. His voice lowered down to a strained whisper.

“That’s beautiful. That’s my name now. I’m not responding to anything else.”

* * *

 

“Do you think they know already?” 

The harsh air bit the tips of Eddie’s nose and ears, as he waited for Richie to finish his smoke. It smelled like snow was coming up the coast; the sun hadn’t been out in days. It felt good to be outside after lunch, and even though it was childish, Eddie had never really gotten over being deprived of recess once high school had started. Slinking out through the side door during the last 5 minutes of lunch felt, not devious or rebellious, but suspect. Every prying pair of eyes watching them as they left. 

“I feel like they know already…”

“So what if they do?” Richie asked, his free hand vaguely tracing the palm of Eddie’s hand. 

They were pressed tight to the brick wall of the breezeway, knuckles scraping against the rough surface as they hid their clasped hands.

Eddie bit his lip, the cold making the taste of iron linger in the creases. He fished the Carmex out of his coat pocket and applied it earnestly; he could feel Richie watching him with interest. 

He brought the red and yellow tube up in front of the other man's face, an action that meant “want some?” and Richie answered by engaging Eddie in a long, lingering kiss. 

“Blegh, come on Rich…” Eddie keened, pushing on his boyfriend’s chest, meeting his eyes and grinning. 

Richie hummed contentedly and pressed his lips together to spread the chapstick.

“Mm, thanks, sugah.” He continued to smile, but it waned when he realized Eddie wasn’t smiling back. 

“Eds, come on.” Richie persisted, squeezing the smaller boys hand tight within his own. “If they know, they haven’t said anything, and we’re gonna tell em tomorrow anyway.”

Eddie nodded absently, averting his gaze, poking his head quickly around the corner of the wall, just to make sure they were really alone. 

“They’re family.” Richie said simply. 

 _Family._  

Eddie took in a sharp breath and bristled at the word. They had gone over this last night, a simple discussion that turned into an argument. The argument, more like minor meltdown, had turned into hasty ‘making up’ but the worry lines on Eddie’s face only deepened.

* * *

_“What am I gonna say to my mom?”_ had been what started it.

They had been parked next to the Standpipe, breathing heavily, the air around them thick with the sounds of mouths and tongues, swallowed moans and expletives. In one sudden motion, Eddie had taken a deep breath, fumbled with the button on Richie’s jeans, and slipped his hand under the waistband of his boxers. Their foreheads were pressed together, and Eddie was trembling, straddling the taller man’s lap. Richie had his eyes screwed shut, like the constant eye contact and extreme closeness embarrassed him.

It was endearing to see Trashmouth Tozier almost bashful, and Eddie’s voice was hoarse when he asked Richie if he could keep going. Richie answered by holding the back of Eddie’s neck and kissing him so hard, and so quickly that their heads knocked together. His glasses were off, and the kiss was over shot, to the point where Richie’s mouth was pressed firmly to heart-shaped line of Eddie’s jaw. 

Dull ache aside, the two began to laugh, readjusting so they could kiss properly.

“My bad.” Richie murmured against the other’s kiss-swollen lips. 

The car rumbled idly underneath of them, and the windows had fogged up. The guitar and bass of the Red Hot Chili Peppers flowed from the speakers; a band made infamous by performing naked with tube socks over their dicks. Unsavory, was the word on the street, and of course, Richie was quickly _obsessed_.

It _was_ a pretty song. Eddie admitted silently to himself.

_Soul to Squeeze, I think it's called._

The windows glowed a bleary yellow and orange from the street lamps outside. Eddie’s watch chirped, alerting them it was ten o’ clock. _Time to go home._ Lest they face the wrath of Sonia Kaspbrak…

Richie groaned, and buried his face in the soft material of Eddie’s shirt, relishing the smell of detergent and body wash, Irish Spring; arms clutched behind the other’s back, hugging him close.

“Just stay here with me a little longer...”

Eddie eased at the sound of Richie’s voice. A soft sort of plea: just the right amount of sweet and needy. He couldn’t say no to that. He allowed himself to be enveloped in the embrace, hiding his face in Richie’s hair.

_‘Where I go, I just don’t know. I got to, got to, gotta take it slow.’_

He could feel the vibration of Richie humming along, and he for the briefest of moments, allowed himself to get carried away. It would only be a matter of time before the shrill voice of his mother clouded his thoughts like a storm, urgent with thunder and lightening.

 _“Edward Franklin Kaspbrak! I was worried sick, I almost called the police.”_ He could practically smell the hot sour breath on his cheek, and her crushing, domineering grip on his shoulders. There he would stand, eighteen, a man now, feeling like he was six years old, and close to pissing his pants. _“Don’t you ever do that again, don’t you ever!”_

 _Get out of my head._ He thought, bitterly. If she really was capable of getting into Eddie’s head, could read minds like Professor X, she’d be in for the shock of her life. _You betch’yur fur._ What would she see? Amongst all the fun, the sucking, the sodomy, would she also see love hidden there? Would she even consider the possibility that her son was just like any other healthy, red-blooded male, with a mind like a filthy magazine; a mind with hopes, and dreams of a future far away from her with Richie Trashmouth Tozier? No amount of prayer, or threats or communion wafers jammed down his constricting throat could change that. He wondered then, the possibility of what would happen if he did stay out after curfew, better yet, if he and Richie left tonight, down the interstate...never to return. 

“Eds, take a breath.” Richie shushed, even softer than before, rubbing soothing circles over the thin, bird-like shoulder blades of Eddie’s back. “You’re alright. I got’chu.”

He hadn’t even noticed that he had started shaking, or that he had been holding his breath, but Richie’s hands were big, and strong; keeping him grounded there in reality.

“What am I gonna say to my mom?” He lamented, already feeling the hot tears of guilt well, threatening to break. Before Richie could even answer, Eddie had gotten off his lap and scooted into corner of the back seat, drawing his knees up to his chest.

Why did this have to be so complicated? They were just like any other couple. Bill and Bev didn’t have to think about it too hard, so why did they? Why did the very idea of breaching the topic of dating _at all_ with his mother-let alone dating Richie- make his tongue turn to sandpaper and his hands sweat? Why was it that when Eddie thought about letting the rest of the Losers know about their relationship, it filled him with a doubt and dread so fierce, so intense, he felt like he would pass out.

Would they understand? Would anyone understand?

“Eddie, hey, look at me.” Richie had buttoned his pants, and was kneeling on the seat, head stooped low to meet Eddie’s. He took his boyfriend's trembling face in his hands and spoke quietly, but firmly. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. Okay?”

Eddie tried to speak, but words wouldn’t come. 

“You either tell her, or you don’t. That’s up to you, but you bet your ass I’m gonna be here, alright? No matter what.”

Reassuring incentive, sure, but that didn’t stop Eddie’s mind from flipping through each worse case scenario in his mental rolodex. There were words for boys like them, and there were consequences that went along with being “out”. Would he or Richie become another Don Hagarty and Adrian Mellon: beaten and stabbed and thrown off the Kissing Bridge? His mother had told him about the murder back in ’84, explaining that it had been a ‘hate crime.’ The boys involved were sent to prison and the town quietly forgot, like it did with everything else.

*He hadn’t thought about Adrian Mellon since he was eight years old, but now in the stuffy backseat of Richie’s car, it rushed over him like a tidal wave, consuming him. Every time someone had called him a faggot, a flamer, cocksucker, fairy, fudge-packer screamed in his brain; the ring in his ears tasted like blood. 

Something a kin to existential dread must have flickered behind his eyes, because Richie spoke a little louder.

“Nothing is gonna happen, Eds. You hear me?”

“But my mom-“

“Fuck her!” Richie snapped, and almost immediately tried to take it back. His head fell a few inches and shook suddenly. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“She’s my mom, Rich! She’s…she’s family…”

“The only _family_ I’m planning on telling are those Losers we call our friends.” The statement was simple, and concise, but it felt like a shock of electricity to the brain. Richie was right.

*“They’ve been there for us, and we’ve been there for them. Every time someone made fun of Bill’s stutter or brought up Georgie, every time someone called Stan a mockey-kike or a Christ killer, every time someone called Ben ‘Tits’, or Mike a…a…”

Richie was rambling now, and Eddie pulled him close by his shirt.

Richie took a slow shuddering breath before he spoke again.“They love us, Eds. That’s never gonna change. Fuck everyone else.”

“Yeah.” Eddie whispered, and Richie pulled away briefly, searching Eddie’s face, trying to read his expression for any trace of doubt.

“Fuck everyone else.” He repeated.

He said it a few times, just so it would stick; until he was positive it would stick; sealing the implied promise with a kiss. 

Richie drove Eddie home, the two vaguely aware of Sonia's foreboding shadow, standing in the front window. Before Eddie closed the car door, he stuck his head back into the car.

“Come see me, later?”

The phrase lingered in the space between them, causing Richie’s magnified eyes to bug out even more than Eddie thought possible.

“Uh, y-yeah. Sure! I’ll uh, I’ll b-be there.”

Eddie smiled coyly and moved back from the door, his hand resting on it a minute longer. “And Richie?”

“Y-yeah?”

“Work on that Bill impression; it sucks.”

* * *

As much as he had expected, Sonia rounded on him as soon as he walked in the door. Apparently coming home four whole minutes past his 10:30 curfew was cause for alarm. The sensation of dejavu coming to mind at her words…

“I was so worried, I almost called the police! When I say 10:30, I mean 10:30 sharp, you hear me?” It had taken years for her to move his curfew up in the first place. It used to be 8:45, up until he was sixteen.

“Mom, it’s alright. Please, calm down.” Eddie tried his best to assure her, placating her just enough by placing his hands gently on her shoulders. “I was at the Stan- I was at Stanley’s, that’s all. We’re all working on a project together and Richie offered to drive me home.” 

Sonia nodded, but Eddie knew she was only slightly convinced. She could sniff out a lie like a truffle hog, but instead of persisting, she calmly nodded her head and huffed the last remnants of panic from her voice. “Okay, Eddie-bear. I’m…I’m just glad you’re home _safe_.” 

The implication that he wasn’t safe with Richie was laughable, but he didn’t dare. Her silence was worse than her yelling sometimes, and the fact that she dropped the matter so easily was…unnerving. He gave his mother a small kiss on her pasty, wet cheek, said goodnight, and headed up the steps. 

After he had showered, and brushed his teeth, he spend the latter half of the evening pacing back and forth, waiting for a certain foul-mouthed train-wreck to come creeping through the sliding glass door.

The din of headlights slowly illuminated his bedroom wall around midnight, and Eddie hopped out of bed, soundlessly padding down the steps, and through the living room to the back door. Richie appeared shortly there after, and the pair crept back into Eddie’s room, thankful they hadn’t been caught, and riled by their success.

* * *

 “There’s gotta be a more seamless way to sneak in here.” Richie whispered, turning the knob of the door to avoid the click upon it closing. Eddie made a noncommittal sort of noise, and moved to his desk to turn off the lamp.

They hadn’t ever been caught in the roughly six or so years they had been doing this, but the repetition did nothing to ease their anxiety. He hoped to god their luck wouldn’t run out, especially now. The way they were going earlier, the way Eddie looked at him when he told him to come over…if they got caught tonight…

“I wish I could teleport. That would be dope, wouldn’t it? If I coul-mmph.” Within seconds, Eddie was on him, kissing him feverishly, rustling any ceaseless rambling from his mind, shaking hands slipping his “eyesore” of a windbreaker off his shoulders.

Richie helped the process further, shaking the rest from his arms, and kicking off his shoes before grabbing Eddie by the waist, diving in to kiss, then bite, then suck the side of his neck. 

“Are you…are you trying to give me a hickey right now? What are we, fourteen?” Eddie asked, warningly, pulling Richie’s face away from his neck with both hands. 

Richie gave a reluctant sort of half-smile and shrugged.

“I won’t if you don’t like it.”

Eddie seemed to mull over this briefly before walking Richie backwards toward the bed to the point where the taller man's knees caved and his back hit the comforter with a silent thump.

“Just shut up and do it again.” 

Richie scooted up so his back rested on the mountain of soft pillows Eddie had on his bed, and his head lulled against the wall. Eddie had climbed on top of him for the second time that night, and Richie wasted no time, helping him out of his sweater, flinging it across the room. 

Oh he’d do it again. Anywhere Eddie would let him, he’d do it again, and again.

It didn’t take long for Eddie’s chest, and the space just below his collarbone to become peppered with angry looking purple and red welts. It only briefly crossed Richie’s mind that this could potentially be a problem later, but fuck him sideways if he was thinking too hard about it now. This was just too consuming. Eddie sitting on top of him, hands interlocking in his hair, pulling Richie closer with each bite; every sound a breathy sigh.

Again his pants were unbuttoned, and again Eddie asked, in the same voice as before, if he could keep going. 

Richie would be damned if he fucked up the kiss this time. Gently he pulled Eddie close by the nape of his neck, and kissed him as if to say _“You can do whatever the fuck you want to me.”_

He felt a deft hand palm him over his boxers before going under the waistband and gently taking a hold. Eddie had his face in the space between Richie’s neck and shoulder and what should have tickled, only added to the sensation. 

“Oh…” Eddie breathed out into his ear, and a shiver shot throughout his body. _Good oh? Bad oh?_ He blinked rapidly, mind starting to lose focus on the positives. He wasn’t small, not as grand as he proclaimed, mind you, but still big enough to feel good about, so what did Eddie mean by ‘Oh’!?

“What...oh, what do you mean, oh?” 

“Nothing, just…uh-surprised, is all.” Eddie let out a small nervous chuckle, before continuing on, silencing Richie’s accusation full stop, and started the motions.

Up, and down. _Why does this feel so much better with someone else’s hand?_ His mind sputtered, and started to fog. _This is what delirium feels like._

Eddie began to pick up the pace after a minute or two, and Richie’s toes began to curl. His legs started to tense, and his calves burned, threatening an impending Charley horse if he didn’t relax. His hips moved independently of his mind, and Eddie was breathing raggedly in his ear. 

“Ssh...sshit.” Richie cursed. Fumbling hands slid over the comforter in search for Eddie’s thigh, gripping them tight and rocking his body upwards. He went rigid a short while later, the words “I’m close” still on his lips. 

Eddie rose from his perch on Richie’s lap, his hand limp and dripping. Richie almost felt bad, as he assumed having someone else’s cum on his hand would make Eddie squeamish, but shockingly he didn’t seem bothered. He wiped it off with a tissue, simple as that, and climbed back up to sit on Richie’s thighs. He extended out a tissue and Richie made quick work to clean himself off before gripping Eddie’s hips, leaning up to kiss him roughly before laying him down on his back.

Glazed eyes looked up at him, lips parted, hair mussed and Richie swore that image would be stuck in his head for the rest of his life. _Beautiful._

Eddie wriggled out of his pajama bottoms, and Richie stuck a hand between them, working on his boyfriend at an agonizingly slow pace. It wasn’t necessarily a passive aggressive move to make up for Tuesday morning, but rather an excuse to possibly get the stubborn man to plead.

True to form, though, Eddie tried his damndest not to make a peep that entire time, and bit so hard into Richie’s shoulder, he left a perfect circle of tooth indentations.

* * *

“Earth to Eddie Spaghetti.” Richie whistled, and Eddie’s eyes snapped back into focus. “Welcome back.”

Eddie didn't say anything, but rather reached up and tugged on the flap of Richie’s jacket, moving the collar of his sweatshirt down to reveal a faded, but prominent circle of nearly identical marks.

“I’m sorry.” He breathed, and Richie scoffed with an amused grin, bordering on triumphant, looking down at his own shoulder to admire his boyfriend’s handiwork.

“No need to apologize, I’m pretty proud of it.”

Brown eyes widened, and Eddie started to gripe about how Richie’s parents might see, to which Richie responded that his mom had already seen this morning when he went down to grab a clean sweatshirt from the laundry. 

“And what the hell did you tell her?”

“I told her the truth. I told her you bit me, and you wanna know what she said?”

Eddie was practically fuming at his point, hands on his hips and blustering.

“She said, ‘Oh, what did you say about his mom this time?’”

Eddie let out a long, low groan and Richie slung and arm around him, pinching his cheek just for good measure.

“No need to worry your pretty little head.” He assured, as Eddie ducked out from under him, rubbing the sore spot on his cheek where he had been pinched.

“Stop being paranoid Eds, everything’s fine, yadda, yadda, yadda...” Eddie droned, doing his best imitation of Richie (which really wasn’t bad) turning tail and making toward the gymnasium.

Richie smiled and rushed to beat him to the door only so he could in turn hold it open.  _Like a gentleman._ He thought. 

“Did you decide what movie we’re seeing tonight?”


	12. Thursday. November 6, 1994-Friday. November 7, 1994

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To all of you that celebrate Christmas, I hope you all have a wonderful holiday. For those who celebrate Hanukkah, I hope you had a great one! 
> 
> I'll be back in two weeks with another update. I have a pretty hefty amount of free time to write!
> 
> Thank you all for your support and patience!
> 
> Slight NSFW warning toward the end.

It was nearing 4:30 in the evening, and the sun was beginning to set, the sky tinged a deep purple, like the middle stages of a bad bruise. Housewives milled around their pristine kitchens; weary, well-worked husbands tucked away their coats and hats, and porch lights lazily blinked themselves awake.

Eddie and Sonia had already eaten; a ready meal from the pantry, the kind that instructed to _just add water!_ Why his mother insisted they use the good plates was beyond him. Imitation pasta-fazool from a box could just as easily be served in a paper bowl and it wouldn’t have made a difference, but Eddie complied anyway.

He was in the kitchen, the sleeves of his sweater hiked up to the crook of his elbows, taking care not to drip soapy water on the floor. Sonia would have given her son some extra money, even without Eddie cleaning the dishes, but he figured this small kindness would sweeten the pot. 

 _Just four more bucks…_ He reminded himself, grimacing as the red sauce and soap mingled under his fingernails. Just four more bucks, and he could add it to the ten he had in his wallet. Just four more bucks and he could pay for his date with Richie. It felt nice being able to treat them. 

_She’s eaten, she’s comfortable, all you gotta do is go in there and ask…_

He unplugged the sink and dried his hands on the dampened dishtowel. He frowned, expecting to hear the familiar gurgling squelch, and realized there must be something caught in the drain. He flipped the disposal switch and listened to the slosh and crunch, imagining whatever wad of gunk being pulverized.

Eddie walked to the living room, but didn’t enter. He merely stood in the doorframe and waited for his mother to acknowledge him. Sonia was in her EZ-chair with her woolen-socked feet on the ottoman, watching the re-syndicated Family Feud.

_“I’m a grandfather now, but I look it. I’ve aged very badly.”_

“He looks great for his age, I’m so glad he’s back.” Sonia smiled, turning up the volume for the rest of the Stewart Family introductions.

Eddie had to agree with her. Ray Combs, the last host of Feud didn’t hold a candle to Richard Dawson. Dawson had left the show back in ’85, and when Combs took over, Family Fued was left with horrible ratings. He didn’t have the same magnetism, and you could tell nobody wanted to kiss him. 

“Hey, Ma?” Eddie made soft somber steps toward her, turning at the last minute to sit on the couch, legs stiffly uncrossed and his hands placed on his knees. Looking her in the eyes and asking for a favor was an exercise a kin to approaching a lion wearing a meat suit. One wrong move… 

“Hm, what is it sweetie?” Her focus transferred to him immediately. The television was muted and her eyes bore into his, worry creeping into her retinas, as if she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I, uh…” Eddie cleared his throat, curtly, as not to sound like a cough. “I did the dishes, and I was wondering maybe if I could borrow like, four or five bucks?”

Her gaze softened then, into something more thoughtful. Her ample body shifted in her chair, and the hinges groaned as she leaned severely over the arm to grab her pocketbook.

Eddie could feel the tension in his shoulders release. He held out his hand to meet hers in receiving the five dollar bill, and jumped when her arm recoiled, the flash of green disappearing into her scrunched fists.

“You’re going somewhere, Eddie? You know it’s a school night.”

It bothered Eddie that the question hadn’t been what he needed the money for, but rather the assumption. She was right, but he hardly thought it mattered. This was only delaying his departure. Richie would be coming to pick him up in 15 minutes, and he wanted to be ready to jump as soon as he honked.

“Just going to the movies with my friends.” He said, coolly, emphasizing _friends,_ fighting to keep his expression impartial. If he raised his voice, if his eyes grew weary, he’d never make it passed the front door.

Sonia seemed to regard this for a moment and nodded slowly, unfurling the crumpled bill in her hands and extending her reach again, her expression then was mixed.

Initially her eyes bulged at the mention of Eddie’s “friends.” After all this time, she was nare to trust the lot of them.

Eddie saw a mix of emotions play across her face; fear was there, anger too, and some sadness. She was remembering…

That day had been a doozy. He was lying in his hospital bed, freshly broken arm in a cast, the day after Sonia had turned his friends away during visiting hours. It was the first time Eddie had confronted her.

“ _They’re my friends, and you’re not going to steal my friends just because you're scared of being alone.”_

It had destroyed her, even more so when Eddie had explained that he knew all about his “medicine.” Placebos…a mother’s love makes it medicine. It’s good medicine, but it was only for his brain, his and his mother’s. He had made a deal with her in not so many words; he would keep using the aspirator if she accepted his friends. There was no choice in the end. She had been too _afraid_ of him to refuse.

“What movie are you going to see?”

This was a test, he was sure. Horror, she wouldn’t stand for and he could kiss Abraham Lincoln’s likeness goodbye.

“Stargate.” He answered, slowly taking the bill out of her hand, maddened by her ambivalence. “Some Science-Fiction movie about opening wormholes, Mike really wants us all to see it.” He wasn’t going to see Stargate. Richie and he had settled on Interview with the Vampire. It was an Anne Rice novel that had been adapted for the screen, and Ben was nearly beside himself when Richie had told him he was planning on taking his _date._

She barely entertained Richie as Eddie’s friend, let alone as his boyfriend. He was too unruly, too crass, and too loud. Eddie wondered then how his mother would react if he came clean. If he just…casually mentioned that this movie was meant as a date: a date with Richie Tozier.

_Ma, I’m gay. I’m sorry I never told you before but…he really likes me, you see? And I’m happy. He makes me…happy…I love..._

No. A dim memory of the grand Victorian on West Broadway vividly shifted into focus with its perfectly manicured front lawn, it’s impeccable flowerbeds; mint-green shingles; never one out of place. It was easily the best looking house in town and belonged to Phil and Paul Tracker, of Tracker Brothers Truck Depot. Neither were married, and pushing 40, they didn’t seem to be leaving bachelor life behind any time soon. He remembered staring, awestruck at the grandeur and beauty of the house, while his mother ruffled and sniffed. _“Any two men who bother keeping a house so nice must be queers.”_

Today was not the day to tell her. Tomorrow wasn’t the day, either. Tomorrow was reserved for the Losers, and the beginning of a weekend at Richie’s. He had to tell her about that, too…but that could wait.  
  
Richie’s car honked from street, and Eddie couldn’t help but grin. Sonia caught it and frowned, but it erased from her face when Eddie leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“Thanks, Mama. I’ll come straight home after.”

* * *

 

“Again? Jesus, Rich, that’s the third time you’ve blown out your speakers in like, what? A year?”

Richie rubbed his hand on the back of his neck and sighed. He knew this was coming. He had tried to cover up the evidence by playing his music uncharacteristically low on the drive to the movie theatre. That action in and of itself was suspect, because Eddie insisted Richie turn it up as soon as he heard saw Richie's guilty mug. 

The voice of Kurt Cobain was almost inaudible over the blaring buzz. Louder wasn’t always better in this particular scenario, and Richie set pleading eyes on his boyfriend, cranking up the charm to eleven with an even “Maybe you could do that thing where you fix it with t.p. and nail polish? You’re so good with cars, Eds.”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed as he lowered the volume back down. Flattery only sometimes worked where the smaller man was concerned. He wasn’t even really trying to butter Eddie up for a favor; mostly he was just thinking out-loud.

In the time it took for the compliment to register, Richie could see the small smile deepen Eddie's dimples.

"We'll see..." He said softly, folding his arms over his chest, trying to remain implacable.

The longer they drove, and the more Eddie spoke, Richie found himself relaxing into his mind, and the thoughts that brewed there. Every time they came to a stop, he would take the opportunity to steal a glance in the other man’s direction. He heard everything Eddie was saying; he took in everything he was saying too- every syllable, and every laugh. His laughing came all the way up to meet his eyes.

Beverly had once accused him of _‘having no romance’_ in his soul, but boy, was she wrong. It was an odd feeling, surely. He _loved_ being with Eddie, just like this. It felt good, and right, and ridiculous that they were together; too good to be true, sometimes. His thoughts about Eddie ranged anywhere from G-rated holding hands and admiring his smile, and his laugh, to…absurd, almost crazy shit you could only find in a John Waters film, the X-rated stuff. That was being a guy, though…he suspected.

There was a shoebox at home, much like the one in his car filled with cassettes. This one was under his bed, and instead of cassette tapes, it was filled with notes. Love notes, more or less. Little ramblings in unfocused scrawl, some addressed to Eddie directly, and some not. He would do this, most times late at night, sit at his desk and write how he felt. He could hardly do it in person, but he felt sometimes that if he didn't get it out of his brain it would come wildly pouring out of his mouth like a fulminating exhaust pipe. 

_Eds, sometimes I look at you and-_

~~_I look at you all the time_ ~~

_You're really something else, you know that? Pretty fuckin' chuckalicious. Pretty fuckin' cute. ~~We should go out~~ _

_Maybe we could hang out soon, just the two of us_

_I'll give these to you one day_

Eddie must have noticed Richie's not-so-subtle glances, because he was blushing to his ears, speaking rapidly and fidgeting with his fingers. 

"I got something on my face?" Eddie asked, unable to hide his amusement. 

Richie didn't answer, and only grinned, shaking his head suddenly. He parallel parked the car on the side of Kansas street, under the brightest street light, getting out of the car, and sliding his ass over the hood in order to open Eddie's door for him. 

Before they reached the sidewalk, Eddie rounded on him, putting his hands on his hips and cocking an eyebrow expectantly. 

"You're being alarmingly quiet, Rich. What's up?"

“Oh, uh…” _It’s just that we are going on an honest to god date, and I don’t know what to say, or what to do with myself, and every time I think about the fact that we're dating I feel like I’m going to start screaming, and Jesus-shit if I started, I would never fucking stop._ “Jusht takin in the sh-cenery, shweetheart. Ain’t it a fine day in pardish?” 

“Humphrey Bogart can’t answer for you.” Eddie said, stepping forward and poking Richie in the chest. 

Richie deflated, his grin faltering as the wisp of his impression faded away. "I'm just...I'm really happy you're taking me out is all." He didn't care that he might have been blushing.

They approached the theatre together, shoulder to shoulder, the space between their empty hands felt like electricity surging through storm cloud, just waiting to break through. But they didn't...not out here. Not for the prying eyes of Derry, not until they were ready.

The Aladdin was permanently stuck in time, it seemed. The same brick façade, same marquee, no longer illuminated as the bulbs had neglected to be changed, and the same ticket booth outside, clouded by fingerprints and spit. It was old. Older still, was the craggy creature residing inside said scummy ticket booth 

Richie felt his stomach clench, immediate indigestion setting in. Good ole “Liver Lips” Cole sat on her stool, her infamous plum-painted lips puffing out smoke like a fire-breathing dragon. Her penciled black eyebrows hung low over her lids in a perpetual scowl. The roots of her hair were stark white, but an inch from her visible scalp began the brightest red hair Richie had ever seen on a woman over twenty. It looked like blood; the blood of kids that threw popcorn and ran in the aisles. Richie used to think Mrs. Cole hated only children, but the longer time went on, he realized that she was a perfect democrat who hated everyone, and everything equally.

He was secretly grateful when Eddie allowed him to hang back while he bought their tickets. He would never admit it, but Liver Lips gave him the fuckin' willies. He could never shake the feeling that one misstep and her jaw would unhinge, swallowing you up like one of those snakes that can eat a deer whole. 

It had been her who demanded Richie be fired after his unscrupulous antics, she who had demanded that he and the rest of the guys be banned for life. Mr. Foxworth, the manager had been merciful. Richie caught a glimpse of him at the concession stand, his eyes half-lidded and hollow. Mr. Foxworth always reminded Richie of a blood-hound, his sad eyes telling the tale of unimaginable woe and disappointment.

Eddie had also gone up alone to the concession stand to grab their food, and Richie admired him from a far, standing by the doorway leading to the balcony seats. It wasn't his favorite place to sit by a long shot, but before they had entered the theatre, Richie had correctly identified a group of fellow seniors as Marcia Fadden, Peter Gordon, Greta Keene, Sally Mueler, and Craig Roberts corralled together, chatting amiably to one another. He knew they wouldn't start shit at school. With graduation looming just around the corner, everyone was trying to stay on their best behavior, but out here? Fair game.

"Fourteen bucks." Eddie whistled, sauntering over to Richie and taking a premature sip of his soda. "You're not a cheap date."

"Oh, I can be real cheap if you play your cards right." Richie said, wriggling his eyebrows and he melted when instead of groaning or rolling his eyes, Eddie snickered, straw bent between his teeth. 

* * *

 

The movie started with a panning shot of San Francisco, and Richie felt a deep longing to be there. Eddie started in on the sour patch kids, the shuffle of the cardboard box breaking Richie’s concentration momentarily. Eddie was about to bring one to his mouth when Richie leaned over, taking the sour candy out of Eddie’s fingers with his mouth.

“Fuckin’ really?” Eddie giggled, trying to project displeasure but falling short. He wiped his fingers on his pants with a huff and craned his body as far sideways as it would go. Richie’s reach was nothing to be challenged and Eddie had to tickle the taller man in the pit to get the box back from him. 

The first jumpscare happened without warning and Eddie gasped, holidng his hand to his chest and wheezing out a startled laugh. Brad Pitt’s character, Louis was being interviewed by Christian Slater and Pitt was attempting to prove his undead-cred by teleporting quickly too-and-fro in order to turn on the light. Admittedly it had startled Richie too. They both startled a little easier these days.

“Not cool.” He hissed.  
  
Richie took this as his cue to weave their fingers together. _Like a glove._ He thought.  
  
The movie was good, great even, but that didn’t stop the pair from talking. Alone in their balcony seats, they leaned all the way back, hiking up the arm rest that separated them and settling so their shoulder’s touched.

 _“Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”_  
“I’ve come to answer your prayers…”  
  
“I wish he’d answer _my_ prayers…” Eddie whispered, and Richie whipped his head to stare at the smaller man incredulously.  
  
“That’s Risky Business Tom Cruise, Eds!” Richie blustered, throwing out his hand to the screen. Eddie only shrugged and continued to crunch his popcorn one kernel at a time.  
  
“I got a thing for vampires, I don’t know what to tell you.”  
  
Richie was familiar. He remembered seeing The Lost Boys with the whole gang when they were eleven or so. For weeks afterwards he listened to Eddie natter on about Kiefer Sutherland and Jason Patric. His insides bubbled with a feeling Richie recognized as jealousy, at the time, anyway.

“Oh, yeah.” Richie agreed, nodding rapidly. “Nosferatu really melts my butter.”  
  
“Jesus…” Eddie exhaled, making a gesture like he was trying to center himself and meditate.  
  
“Really…fries my bacon.”

“Here we go…”  
  
Richie continued, getting closer to Eddie’s face with every example, the emphasis lingered on each verb and noun.  
  
“He _stuffs_ my _turkey…”_  
  
“Rich, what the fuck…stop.” Eddie pleaded beseechingly, scrunching up his face with equal amounts distaste and pleasure.  
  
“ _Mashes_ my _potatoes_ …It’s November, Eds. I’m going with a Thanksgiving theme.”

To the outside observer it would appear that Eddie was trying to become the theatre seat while Richie was attempting to see Eddie’s brain through his ear; he was so close. 

“Browns my…gravy? Nah, that sounds like I shit myself, that’s not sexy.” Richie huffed and settled back in his seat, grabbing his soda with one hand and slurping loudly. Eddie laughed out loud despite the aggravated shushes from below.

The farther the movie progressed the more Richie couldn’t help but notice little _details_ about the film. Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt together on screen as Louis and Lestat brought up some feelings he was having trouble solidifying.  
  
Vampires in general had always seemed almost unapologetically sexual. The whole act of sucking someone’s blood, seducing them into compliance, all the grunting and…face touching. Two grown men, raising a twelve year old vampire girl, the way Lestat looked at Louis…  
  
“Wow…” Eddie breathed, thickly.

“What?” Richie replied, the light reflecting off the lenses of his glasses.  
  
“This movie is a little gay.”

Richie snorted and clucked his tongue in his cheek. “Ayuh. Not just a little…”  
  
“Okay, so it’s super gay. Like, Xanadu gay.” Eddie said, snickering.  
  
“High octane gay.” Richie muttered.

“Major league gay.”

“ _Major league gay_.” He parroted in a strained whisper, and slung an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder, pressing his nose onto the other’s temple. “They’re fuckin hittin' it out of the park…”

The movie ended with a round of applause, and Richie roared at the choice of an end credit song. "Man, Sympathy for the Devil, what a good fucking tune." He was singing along and much to his surprise, Eddie joined in, taking the steps to the lobby two at the time and laughing the whole way down.

They had both made it into the lobby when Richie saw Kenne and company packed together by the front doors, and he stopped in his tracks. Eddie saw the source of Richie's abrupt stop and grabbed onto the sleeve of his jacket. 

"We'll just go out the side through the alley, yeah?" He stood on his tip-toes to whisper in Richie's ear, and Richie nodded, following his boyfriend dutifully, trying to fight the overwhelming feeling of dejavu. 

* * *

 

Friday at school was over faster than Eddie could process. Richie had dropped him off the night prior, kissed him goodbye, and Eddie had walked dreamily back into his house, and floated up to his room, falling into the most relaxing and unfazed sleep he had enjoyed on his own in years. The only thoughts that occupied his mind were of Richie's lips on his own, holding hands in a dark movie theatre and laughing like they were the only two people left in the world. 

The only stumbling block thus far had been his mother's insistence that Eddie stay home with her that night. She tried to argue, unsuccessfully that since Eddie had gone out with his friends the night prior, he had no reason to stay the night with them at Richie's. She had even tried to bribe him with Chinese takeout, a rarity, seeing as she didn't trust anything "foreign", insisting "those people" didn't wash their hands before preparing food. " _Turner Classic Movies is playing The Wizard of Oz and Singin' in the Rain."_ Sonia wanted them to spend time together. " _Like we used to."_ She had said. 

In the end, Eddie had won her over by promising to come home on Sunday, and spend the whole day with her, watching whatever she liked, and maybe even helping her paint her toenails. 

The day was going so well, in fact, that an immediate unease settled deep in the pit of Eddie's stomach while he and Richie waited for Stan to show up to the Tozier house. Ben, Mike and Bill had been there for around two hours already, and were searching in the depths of Richie's basement for boardgames to play. 

The "announcement" of their relationship had almost slipped an hour prior down in the kitchen, _twice_ in fact. Richie had jumped the gun as soon as Ben had showed up. Bill, Mike, Eddie and Richie were all sitting around the kitchen table when Ben had come in, shivering and removing his gloves. 

 _"So where's this mystery girl?"_ He had asked, obviously confused to see no new face in their group. 

 _"Well, Haystack..."_ Richie had begun, slinging an arm around Eddie's shoulder.  _"Look no_ _fur-ow!"_

Eddie, wanting to wait until Stan showed up, had stomped on Richie's foot and shot him a withering look. Richie caught the translation gritting his teeth and looking to Ben with a grimace.  _"Uh, they'll be here a little later."_

The other time had been when the group had realized there was nothing to eat or drink. Richie's parents had left him with grocery money, but being mentally distracted himself, he had never gone to the store. 

_“I got it, I got it.” Richie groaned, hoisting himself off the kitchen counter, throwing his keys up in the air, and just narrowly catching them as they descended. No one seemed to notice, thankfully._

_Mike was about to ask Richie if he would make a packie-run*, but quickly remembered they were all under 21. It was easy to forget seeing as how they had all been drinking beer and Allen’s** since they started growing chest hair. The only two that could get away with buying booze without question were Mike and Stan, but even then they had to drive out of Penobscot County where no one knew who they were. The perils of living in a small town…_

_“I’m just gonna bop over to Dahlie's, yeah? Soda, chips...any requests?” Richie's voiced echoed from the hall closet, and he came back into the kitchen with his coat half on._

_Eddie was busy coating the blown car speaker in clear nail polish he had lifted from Richie's sister Jennifer’s room, the toilet paper split, waiting off to the side for application. “A Pepsi and a Payday?”_

_“You got it.” Richie had meandered over and leaned down to kiss Eddie goodbye...'but wait. Shit. Abort, abort!'_

_Eddie’s eyes widened and his breath held still in his throat. Mike, Bill, and Ben were looking at them now, a little uneasily. The two were almost nose to nose and frozen in place._

_In a swift burst of genius and nerves, Richie let out a sharp belch, blowing into Eddie’s face and grunting “That’s for you.” Before stuffing his other arm into his coat and backing out of the kitchen, quickly._  
  
_“Oh, you fucking pig! Richard!”_

_The others were laughing, and Richie mouthed and apology, throwing up his hands and wincing at Eddie’s furious expression._

"God, I wish Stan would hurry the fuck up!" Eddie hissed, falling onto Richie's bed and covering his face with his hands. Richie was packing up his portable record player, so he could bring it downstairs, sifting through his collection for his top picks for the night. He was mumbling to himself, with a joint hanging out the corner of his mouth. 

"Grateful Dead for Billy, Queen for Mikey...Madonna for Eddie, my love..." 

Eddie shot off the bed and walked over to his boyfriend in a huff, swatting his shoulder crossly. The taller man turned, eyes wide with surprise and delight. "Wha-haha, ow, what Eds?" 

"How are you not freaking out right now, cause I'm freaking out right now!" He ripped the joint from Richie's lips and fumbled in the taller man's pockets before finding a lighter, lighting up the joint and taking a puff in one quick motion. He only coughed once, and Richie looked positively tickled. 

"Yowza, Eds, you're really freakin' out, ain'tcha?" He giggled, taking the spliff in his own hands and inhaling deeply. "Open up." He requested, his voice deep and distorted. Eddie did, parting his lips and allowing Richie to blow in the smoke. 

"Hey..." Richie kissed him, sweetly. Both held their eyes shut, and they stayed close together, lips still touching. "I keep telling you, you've got nothing to worry about. They're gonna be chill. You know that."

They kissed again, and Eddie groaned at how pliant he was becoming. Richie had his arm, joint in hand, held away from their faces, and the other hand on Eddie's hip, He pulled them even closer together, so that their hips bumped. One kiss after the other becoming more heated. 

"We should-we should really go downstairs..." Eddie murmured against the other man's neck. His smallish nimble hands ran down Richie's sides, and kept going lower. 

Richie grunted affirmatively and shivered when Eddie's hand undid the button on his jeans and unzipped his fly. 

"We really should..." 

They melted into another kiss, the skunky smell of the pot lingering on their tongues, and Eddie flipped the elastic down on his boyfriends boxers, feeling him harden in his hand. He had to take a second and break their kiss, just to look down and steal a glance. He couldn't help but desperately wonder what the other's cock really looked like. Eddie had felt it, sure, but... _Oh, wow..._

"What the fuck..." 

That...was not Richie's voice.  

Eddie practically gave himself whiplash as he turned to the bedroom door, and felt himself die ten times over upon seeing Stan's placid face staring at them from the doorway. 

Slowly, without another word, or another look in their direction, Stan closed the door with a sharp  _click._

The pair stood in silence for what felt like an eternity, both looking at the shadow of Stan's feet through the crack at the bottom of the door. 

“Maybe he didn’t notice…” Eddie whispered, hopefully. Richie had his fist in his mouth and was choking out muffled, borderline hysterical laughter that reminded Eddie of a seagull at the beach.

Eddie rested his head on Richie's heaving chest, feeling mortified, hearing Stan’s heavy footfalls descend the steps, a chorus of “What the fuck, what the fucking fuck!” steadily increasing in volume all the way down. 

* * *

  
*Expression in Maine, meaning: trip to the liquor store  
** Allen's Coffee Brandy (the most popular alcohol in Maine)


	13. Friday. November 7, 1994 (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I am so sorry I've kept you guys waiting so long for this, and I'm sorry to have to deliver this chapter in two parts. Part 2 will be a NSFW chapter, and I've been editing it like crazy. I didn't wanna deny you all an update, so I'm hoping this will satiate you for now. 
> 
> Don't worry, I won't make you wait two weeks for Part 2. That'll be up this week. I'm super not happy with this part 1, it is not my best work at all. I stressed myself out too much over it. I'll probably sneak in a few minor edits here and there. 
> 
> Again, thank you for being patient!
> 
> -Kat

_“What the fuck! What the fucking fuck!”_

* * *

 

It was almost like getting tinnitus, the way Eddie’s hearing temporarily left him. It sounded like he was standing in the center of an empty swimming pool paired with the high frequency ringing in his ears. 

Stan had garnered the attention of the rest of the guys and Eddie could hear them all gathering loudly in the foyer down the steps....but the details were lost. He thought a little hysterically of the teacher from the old Peanuts cartoons; only catching bits and pieces. Key words stuck out, while others sounded mumbled and distorted.

 _“-sus fucking Christ! --- Richie! ---- the fuck! --- his dick! --- scarred for life!”_

There was laughing, which rang through clearly after about thirty seconds. Richie had stopped laughing, but his face still held the same wolfish smile. 

“It’s not funny…” Eddie sighed, sounding exhausted.

“It’s a little funny.” Richie retorted, licking the tips of his thumb and forefinger to extinguish the joint, hissing a little at the burn. Once he was sure it was out, he tucked it back behind his ear and sniffed. “We might as well do this now.” He added, taking Eddie’s small hands in his own and looking toward the door.

“Are you serious!?” Eddie gaped at the sheer audacity and Richie merely shrugged his shoulders. “Did you see his face? Obviously this is a fucking problem!”

Eddie could hear that Stan was no longer yelling, but the man in question straying from his normal measured tone was a rarity, even in instances of absolute crisis. This was completely out of character. He looked to Richie, jaw clenched.

The taller man had started laughing again and Eddie was towing the line between petrified, furious, and…stoned.

“ _What_ -“ He hissed, his teeth clacking on the ‘t’. “-is so funny…” There was a hint of a giggle breaking the aggression in his voice. _Oh, god. I shouldn’t have smoked. I really shouldn’t have smoked._ His words held such little fire behind red-rimmed eyes and an overwhelming urge to burst into gales of desperate laughter any minute now.

“The only problem Stan has is seeing my dick; not the fact that it was in your hand.”

Maybe Richie was right? _Maybe?_ Eddie wasn’t prepared to let his defense slip just yet. Not when everything could still go so terrible wrong. Stan was hard to place when it came to certain scenarios. He refused to change in front of anyone else during gym at school, but would swim in white briefs when they went to the quarry. The same Stan Uris would make a joke about masturbation, but would rather die than have anyone see him vomit. His reaction to this wasn’t…outside the realm of possibilities?

“Alright…” Eddie sighed, letting go of Richie’s hands and letting them flop in between them. “Put your penis away and let’s fucking do this I guess.”

Richie looked down at himself, still hanging in the breeze as it were, and smirked.

“You sure? Cause I think this is a good look for me.” He started to jostle his hips side to side, and the sight made Eddie snort through his nose.

“Stop wagging your dick at me, you freak!” Eddie quaked with laughter, covering his mouth and muttering under his breath. “You’re a fucking menace. _Behave_.”  
  
“I’ll take; Things Eddie Clearly Doesn’t Mean for 400, Alex.”

* * *

Richie followed close behind his boyfriend who was making a point to inch down the steps as slowly and as quietly as humanly possible. They could hear Mike, Ben and Bill talking boisterously and laughing at Stan’s expense from the kitchen.

Stan was standing next to the kitchen table with his back to the entrance. He was hiding his face behind his hands and making small groaning sounds, accompanied by full-body shuddering.

Eddie stopped mid-stride and pressed himself up against the wall every few feet or so. He must have been dimly aware of how ridiculous he looked, sneaking through the foyer like a spy attempting a jewel heist, because he started whispering the Mission Impossible theme. _Clearly_ that earlier toke was starting to affect him.  
  
_So fucking cute._ Richie mused. Neither seemed to remember the particularly sensitive nature of the topic they were about to broach with their best friends.  
  
Richie was grinning again, an expression, which never failed to make Eddie nervous. He tried to wither him with a babies-must-play look, but Richie only held a finger to his lips; the familiar “watch this” glinting in his eyes.

He slowly unzipped the fly of his pants and stuck his hand inside, letting out a huff of laughter at Eddie’s horrified- but utterly entertained expression. His pointer finger he had previously used to shush his boyfriend was poking out of the flap in his jeans. 

Richie was pretty impressed with himself as he managed to walk up behind Stan with the man in question being none the wiser. He pressed his faux appendage to the small of Stan’s back and shouted:

“Stick ‘em up!”

He was effective in making the other man shriek. Stan had spun around, eyes flickering madly upwards to meet Richie’s leering grin and loud cackling. His gaze averted downwards then to see what had poked him and he screamed again, landing a hard smack to the side of Richie’s head.

“You _asshole!_ ” Stan snarled.

The hit had made Richie yelp, an odd high noise that broke a little when it reached it’s peak. Stan’s fingers had been cupped, boxing Richie’s ear, rather than hitting his face, where his palm had made contact. It was a reflexive hit, but a hit nonetheless, and Stan’s eyes filled with instant regret even as he called Richie out. The taller man continued to laugh, albeit the tone was far more apprehensive than it was playful.

“I deserve that.” He admitted, yanking his hand from his pants and rubbing the side of his face where the faintest hint of pink was surfacing.  
  
The tension in the room was palpable and awkward. Eddie had emerged from hiding, walking into the kitchen and holding his breath, anticipating the worst. The clock above the doorway ticked. It was the only sound filling the room, reverberating off the walls.  
  
“The fuck is guh-going on?” Bill said finally, unable to take the deafening silence. Ben was adjusting his weight from foot to foot, and Mike made fleeting glances toward the door; most likely wishing he could come up with an excuse to step out.  
  
Richie craned a glance over his shoulder at Eddie; who was looking desperately uncomfortable; hand poised over the pocket of his jeans, prepared to grab the aspirator at a moment’s notice. 

 _Not like this._ Richie groaned internally. The easiest way he could think to diffuse the tension would be to make another joke, but he was already on thin ice as it stood. He had to think of something, anything to take the attention off of the issue at hand. They’d just tell them another time, once everything had cooled down.

“Relax, Stanny.” The taller man heaved out with a rush of breath. “Eds was just checkin’ me for crabs. Good news-“ He pulled his thumbs up, looking to each of his friends with a forced smile. “I’m all clear.”

Stan looked entirely nonplussed, and before the rest of the men could weigh in on the statement- 

“No, that’s not it.” Eddie had walked to the center of the kitchen and leaned back against the island. He crossed his hands over his chest and looked down to the floor, the rest of the admission fell from his lips in a rush. “We’re together. Okay? Me and Rich; we’re a thing. We like each other-in a gay way…" 

Nobody spoke. 

“Well?” Eddie’s hands flew out from his sides, desperate for someone to break the silence. “Any questions?”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mike slowly begin to raise his hand. Eddie cocked an eyebrow and looked at the man beseechingly.  
  
“Mike, you don’t-…have to raise your hand…what’s up?”

Mike lowered his hand and looked around, behaving as if the question on his mind were completely obvious, before clearing his throat and speaking.

“I’m confused.” He began, looking to Ben for some sort of recognition. “Cause _I_ thought you two have _been_ dating this entire time…”

“Yeah, same. At least since we were fifteen.” Ben agreed, visibly relaxing as if Eddie had just told him the summary to a book he had already read, and not the admission that he was dating his best friend.

“How does that make sense?” Eddie all but shrieked. “Ben, you literally came in earlier and asked where Richie’s mystery girl was.”  
  
“Right.” Ben said, shrugging his shoulders. “But I always figured you two were just hiding it. Like, on the low-down or whatever it’s called.”  
  
“Down-low.” Mike corrected.

Eddie was…honestly a little furious? He had worked himself up for days, thinking of what to say, imagining and reimaging every possible outcome and this is what happened? None of their reactions had factored into Eddie’s imagined scenarios. Coming out was supposed to be so dramatic, so polarizing.

They were all acting like this was no big deal, sans Stan.

Bill let out a long breath and scratched the back of his head, walking over to Eddie and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m happy for you two.”

Eddie looked up at their leader, feeling a little hopeful. “You mean, you didn’t know?" 

“Puh-lease.” Bill chuffed. “I was wuh-worried I was g-gonna have to keep it a secret until I d-died.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

* * *

Stan, who had remained quiet since giving Richie that love tap, had finally spoken up. He wasn’t addressing the entire room, but rather looking into Richie’s eyes with something akin to disappointment. He was out on the porch within seconds, slamming the screen door shut behind him.

Richie felt his heart sink into his stomach where it bubbled in acid, and throbbed painfully. Had he read Stan completely wrong, all along? Was he really not okay with him and Eddie dating? He wasn’t happy…that Richie was happy?

It was well below freezing outside, but Stan was stubbornly sitting on the front steps, still as a statue, gazing out over the expanse of the driveway and beyond. Richie gently opened the door and stepped out, cursing softly as his glasses fogged up. Deciding not to waste time cleaning them, he plopped down beside his friend. They didn’t speak for a few minutes. Stan wouldn’t even look at him.  
  
“So…” Richie started, cracking his knuckles and looking up at the sky, taking note of the North Star, the biggest and brightest. _Stan showed me that star first when we were kids._ It was part of being a boy-scout. Stan and Eddie both knew that if they got lost in the woods, all they had to do was look up and find the North Star, and they’d be home by bedtime. “Are you gonna tell me what’s up?”  
  
The black haired man let out a long-suffering sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry I hit you.” He grumbled. “It was a reflex, I didn’t mean to.” Richie knew that.

“'M sorry about the mock-cock." Richie said, soberly. "And I didn’t come out here cause you hit me, honestly I’m shocked it hasn’t happened sooner.” A nervous giggle broke the middle of his sentence, and he cleared his throat of it, trying to save face. “Look, I’m sorry if it bothers you, but I really like Eddie, and I was hop-“  
  
“That’s the thing.” Stan interrupted, turning to look Richie in the eyes. Stan had never been a crier but Richie still noticed sadness behind that stoic gaze. “You never _told_ me. Everyone else in there knew but me.”

Richie opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped by Stan’s well-manicured hand flying up in protest. “Please.” He lamented. “Just let me finish.”

Richie nodded, and his mouth shut with a clack. 

“I’m not stupid Rich. I’ve known you’ve liked Eddie since we were kids. You two are about as subtle as a fucking train wreck.”

The taller man nodded in agreement, fighting the urge to snort at the comment. He was a nervous laugher. He and Stan had had heart-to-hearts before, but they always left him feeling itchy, and far too introspective. 

“I’m not mad you two are together. I’m mad I’m the last to find out. I…”

 _Of course._ The statement all but smacked Richie right across the face. _He’s my best fucking friend. I’ve known him the longest, and he wasn’t the first person I told. Bill was, but Bill guessed! It’s not…my fault?_

“…you don’t trust me.”

“Stanny, are you kidding?” Richie gaped, incredulously. “I trust you with my fucking life.” He added, scooting closer and hooking and arm around the other man’s shoulder. The forced contact made Stan bristle, but he soon eased into the embrace. “I mean, shit. If I was dying, you’d be the one I’d want to pull the plug.” 

A genuine smile accompanied Stan’s trademark eye-roll, and Richie felt the lingering unease start to slip away.  
  
“We all know Eddie couldn’t do it, and at least I know you’d get some enjoyment out of it.”

“No, I’d just smother you ala _One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest_. It’d be a mercy killing.” Stan said, drily.

The muted conversation of the rest of the men was floating in and out of hear shot from the kitchen. It was impossible to ignore the sheer hilarity of it all. Ben and Mike were already certain in the status of his and Eddie’s relationship. It was rather obvious the more Richie mulled it over. They went to Homecoming together every year, always sat next to each other during movie nights, hugging, pinching….  
  
“Look, I don’t have a good excuse for not telling you, but I’m gonna tell you now. I’m crazy about Eddie, okay? Head over heels, stupid for him. Every time I look at him I feel like my heart is in my throat.” Richie was speaking hushed and rapidly: Stan watching him with increasing satisfaction.  
  
“You’re telling me you’re in love with him?”

 _I’m in love with Eddie._ The thought had occurred to him a million and a half times, but this was the first time he was saying it out loud.

“Ye-…Yeah. I’m in love with Eddie.” A great calm washed over Richie then, and it felt like a million pounds worth of a secret had been lifted from his shoulders. “And you, Stan Uris, are first to know.”

The sentiment caused an appeased sigh to blow from Stan’s lips. “I’m still mad-“ He began, making sure to keep his voice even. “But I’m happy for you. Both of you. I l-mmrrmmmr…” Stan trailed off in an inaudible murmur.

“What was that?” Richie leaned in, appearing positively pleased.  
  
“I love you…” Stan said, again, with his trade-mark dead-pan delivery.  
  
“One more time?” _I’m pressing my luck. He’s going to strangle me._

“I said I love you, you fucking idiot! No no _no_ -”

Richie’s heart swelled, and his smile was so wide, it drew creases to the corners of his eyes. He threw the other arm around his friend, squeezing him into a bone crushing hug.  
  
“I take it back!” Stan yelped, struggling to break free, and laughing, gasping for air as he attempted to pry Richie’s arms off of him, constrictor like in their attempt to force the very air from his lungs. “Eddie has low standards! He should aim higher!”  
  
“You don’t mean that!” Richie caroled in a sing-song voice, nuzzling the side of Stan’s face, pecking him on the cheek then finally letting go. “I love you tooooo, Stanley!”  
  
The screaming had brought the others rushing to peak out the screen door, they all huddled together, and Eddie’s head was appearing in and out of focus as he hopped up and down in an attempt to see.  
  
“You guys okay, what’s going on?” Mike called, extending a long arm to flick on the porch light. Stan and Richie winced, hissing through gritted teeth and shielded their eyes.  
  
“Stan loves me.” Richie said, matter-of-factly, deciding to abandon the idea of personal space all together. He spun on his butt and wrapped all four of his limbs around Stan’s form like a giant gangly koala.  
  
“Call him off, Eddie. Call him off!” Stan pleaded, and Eddie merely threw up his hands in resignation and started off, out of sight.  
  
“If he’s doing it to you, he’s not doing it to me!” He called, sounding rather smug.  
  
“Treason!” Stan spat, trying in vain to stand.

* * *

“So you both thought we were together the whole time?” Eddie asked Ben and Mike, appearing pensive, brows knitted together, giving the two his undivided attention.

“Pretty much.” Mike confirmed, nodding his head and looking to Ben, who was mimicking his motions.

“And you aren’t…it doesn’t bug you?”  
  
“Course not.” Ben chirped, smiling broadly. “I think it’s really sweet.”  
  
“Yeah, we’re really happy for you, _and_ for Richie. You’re…an influence on him.” Mike said, delivering the last part hesitantly.   
  
“A good influence?” Eddie asked, expectantly.  
  
“You’re an influence on him.” Mike repeated in the same tone, and Bill shook with silent laughter.

Eddie deflated, slumping over and burying his face in his hands. He no longer felt angry; he didn’t even feel nervous, quite frankly. It…wasn’t what he expected, but it was definitely the best-case scenario. His best friends were just as supportive and kind as they could be. Eddie felt lousy for not believing Richie’s words, and doubly lousy for ever doubting the strong bond they all shared. 

“Thank you…” He mumbled into his hands, a warmth radiating through his chest as he felt three separate hands pat him on the back.  
  
“Don’t thank us.” Ben said.  
  
“We love you.” Mike followed.  
  
“Always will.” Bill finished.


	14. Friday. November 7, 1994 (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Pt.2  
> THIS IS A NSFW CHAPTER- Just be aware of that.  
> There are also mentions of PTSD, and coping. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it.

“Guesstures, again?” Stan grumbled, sinking low into the couch and folding his arms petulantly across his chest.

The group had taken their impromptu party into the basement, and even though it was decidedly colder, it provided ample room to spread out. That, and Richie’s parents wouldn’t give two shits if the stiff and scratchy frieze couches left over from the previous owners ruminated in pot smoke. They smelled like old farts anyway.

“What do you m-mean, _again_?” Bill chortled, opening the box and arranging the packet of cards and clapboard timer arbitrarily over the small teak coffee table. 

“Yeah, we’ve only played it twice before this.” Eddie added offhandedly, trying to decide which bag of chips to open first. “Barbeque.” Mike answered for him, swooping in from behind him and taking the bag for himself, initiating Eddie in a game of keep-away. 

“Yeah? Well that’s two times too many...” Stan protested, attempting to steel himself while he watched Bill in abject abhorrence, as he carelessly knocked over the playing cards; scattering most of them onto the floor.

Richie was coming down the steps, arms full with his orange Crosley- a foot tall stack of records placed precariously on top. His heart lurched when he nearly missed the last step down, but he managed to recover quickly, setting everything down on the floor with great care.

Everyone was in much higher spirits now, and Richie couldn’t have been more pleased with how the night had turned. It was almost as if the last twenty or so minutes hadn’t taken place. Richie stood poised at the foot of the stairs, hands in his pockets, and surveyed his friends with warm regards.

Before they had settled on playing board games, Ben had established some ground rules, more or less. Everyone was in agreement that this new upgrade in Richie and Eddie’s relationship changed nothing. The only thing they beseeched is that the pair not _sneak off and blow each other_ when their friends were there.  
  
Okay, so Ben definitely didn’t use that exact language, but Richie understood the gist. It was just plain old poor manners.

The Losers Club had never felt stronger, in Richie’s humble opinion. Bill was the first to know, and he only ever tried to push he and Eddie closer together; something the man didn’t think he would ever be able to repay their fearless leader for.

Stan had shown exemplary compassion and patience at Richie’s blatant forgetfulness, and had been the first to know that how Richie felt for Eddie wasn’t just a schoolyard crush. 

Ben, ever the hopeless romantic, utterly gushed upon hearing how everything had gone down. He had listened to Richie and Eddie relay the whole story, from the mixtape, to the party, to the fight, to Eddie climbing through the window; positively enraptured.

Mike had been the first to embrace them, clapping them both on the shoulders and pulling them in for an especially tight hug; congratulating them on being brave and fully embracing who they were in a town that would jump at the chance to ruin their lives over it.

Richie’s heart felt incredibly full, but there was something else stirring there, too…but what- _I wish Beverly was here._ Ah, yes. Sadness. He and Bill still had to talk about whatever was going on between them, but as far as Richie knew; she had been acting strange. Small things at first like asking for Bill to repeat someone’s name or, mixing up dates from previous years. Bill even swore up and down that the last few times he called her, she initially hadn’t the slightest idea who he even was. _That_ would require a whole separate discussion altogether…

He looked finally to Eddie, who was play-punching Mike in the arm as the taller man held the bag of chips high above their heads. Eddie was smiling, and laughing, looking as though every ounce of elation and ease he felt was radiating from every pore.

As comfortable as Richie was with the rest of the guys, he would never admit out loud how he truly felt in that moment. Eddie was like the sun, Richie thought to himself. _A literal ball of fucking fire._ Or maybe, Eddie was like the ocean; sometimes calm, tranquil, waves lapping at the shore in soft easy measures. Other times, he roared, and crashed with the intensity of a typhoon: both equally appealing to Richie, and both equally terrifying. _I am definitely in love._

“Why are you b-being such a shit, Stan?” Stan was on all fours, stretching to get the cards that had fallen under the table, and Bill was trying to help, only to have his hand swatted away. “It’s only a g-guh-…g-…” Bill breathed out heavily through his nose. _“Jeu.”_ He said quietly, uttering the word for “game” in French before saying the word in English. “Game.”

“Stan’s just mad because he _sucks_ at charades.” Richie piped up, effectively broken from his waxing poetics. 

“I do not _suck_ at charades, Richard.” Stan said, bitterly, popping up from under the table and stacking the cards in a neat pile with a _tap tap tap_ against the wooden surface.

Richie only snorted and knelt down on one knee, cheating his body to the side so he could set up the record player. “ _Blow_ , then? You _blow_ at charades? Is that better?”

“Eat shit, Trashmouth. You only won last time because you cheated.”

“You have no witnesses.” Richie stated matter-of-factly, switching his record choice to Queen instead of Hall and Oates. He was originally going to play the latter _for_ Stan, but that little snip had just caused the man to miss out on his DJ privileges as far as Richie was concerned. 

“I have 5 witnesses. It specifically says in the rules-“ Stan grabbed the bottom half of the box out of Bill’s hands and fished out the directions, scanning it briefly before pointing to the aforementioned passage. “Here; _no props_ , and you used props.”

Richie sauntered over, hands in his pockets, and sniffed. “Can I see that?” He asked, sounding innocent enough, fishing a hand out of his pocket and reaching to take the rules from Stan.  
  
Stan looked skeptical, but handed over the paper, immediately regretting his decision as Richie began hastily shoving the piece of paper into his own mouth.  
  
“Why!?” Stan shouted, grabbing Richie by the shoulders and shaking him, thinking maybe if he shook hard enough, he could knock some sense into his friend’s impulsive mind. “Why are you like this!?”

The raise in voices had caused Mike to become distracted, and Eddie took the opportunity to leap up and snatch the bag of chips from his outstretched hands. Mike made to run after him, but Eddie scurried over to the couch and leapt on top of it, bouncing from foot to foot and smiling victoriously.

“Richie, spit it out! That’s fucking disgusting…” Stan grimaced, yanking the corner of the paper out of Richie’s teeth like a dog with a chew toy.

Bill was laughing. “He’s had w-way worse in his mouth.”  
  
Stan stopped then and sighed. He looked to Bill, face unreadable, and said “Don’t talk about Eddie like that” in a complete monotone.

* * *

“Fucker!” Eddie screeched, throwing the unopened bag at Stan’s face, hitting his mark dead center: giggling madly and hopping off the couch as Stan gaped at him. Stan broke from his trance seconds later, making a quick move to grab the laughing little nuisance as he bounded by.  
  
“Mike!” Stan urged the other with his hands, making the nonverbal suggestion that they box Eddie into a corner. Eddie was quick, but not quick enough. Mike had caught him and put him in the gentlest full nelson he could muster, and Stan came up and grabbed ahold of Eddie’s flailing legs.  
  
“Guys, guys!” Ben lamented, holding up his hands in protest. “How about we get into our teams, yeah?” He made an effort to tug at the back of Richie’s shirt as he brushed past, walking up to Eddie and cackling.  
  
“Oh, no, no, no, Richie!” Eddie squawked, undulating his body sideways, trying to break free of Mike and Stan’s hold.  
  
“Oh, yes, yes, yes, Eddie!” Richie insisted, lifting up Eddie’s t-shirt and blowing a raspberry on the hollering man’s bare stomach.  
  
“Mercy! Mercy, fucking mercy!” He wheezed, taking a break to gasp in between screaming and laughing simultaneously.

Eddie had always been the smallest Loser, ever since they were kids. Even Richie, who was undoubtedly the scrawniest out of all of them, could pick Eddie up over his shoulder without so much as batting an eye. They would all used words like “travel-size”, and “compact” when describing him, and it made Eddie feel a little better than if they were to call him “small”, or “tiny.” Richie had tried to christen him “fun-size” at one point, but Eddie put a stop to that almost immediately given the lude references to candy. 

The torture ended, and Eddie righted himself, jerking his arms out of Mike’s and adjusting his shirt with a huff. Richie had leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, a feeble apology, and Eddie pushed his puckering face away with the palm of his hand.

“Nope.”  
  
“Aw Eds, come on-“

“Not a chance in hell.” Eddie said sweetly, walking back over to the couches, picking up the chips in one fluid motion on the way over.  
  
Ben seemed relieved that the roughhousing was over for now, and he scooted himself up to the side of the table, clapping his hands together and looking around the group.

“Okay, let’s pick our teams…” He already knew the teams, but found it polite to ask first.  
  
“Edward Frankin.” Richie clipped, business-like in tone, looking over to Eddie who mimicked him.  
  
“Richard Wentworth.”  
  
“And Mike!” Mike chimed in, taking a seat in between the couple, grabbing the tops of their heads and lowering himself down.  
  
“What _is_ your middle name, Mikey?” Ben asked, realizing suddenly that he honestly didn’t know.  
  
“Isaiah.” Mike replied, taking the chips from Eddie and shushing the smaller man’s disapproving whine. “Let’s do this!”

Stan huffed as he took his seat on the other couch in between Ben and Bill, the hint of a pout turning his lips downward. “Yeah…let’s…” Stan drolled, narrowing his eyes to Richie.  
  
“Don’t worry, Stan.” Eddie piped up, stealing a chip from the bag and popping it in his mouth with a loud crunch. “We won’t leave a mess.”  
  
“What?” Stan said sharply, looking then to Eddie and cocking his head in reproach.  
  
“I said…” Eddie simpered, his voice sickeningly sweet. “We won’t leave a mess…” He leaned his head on Mike’s shoulder and smiled. “Because we’re gonna mop the fucking floor with you.”  
  
“Ohhhhh!” Richie, and Mike both jeered, clapping their hands and jostling one another.  
  
“That’s my boy!” Richie beamed, pointing to his boyfriend. “I’m dating this!”

* * *

As per the last two times they had played Guesstures, Stan was losing his team major points as he tried in vain to act out the word ‘bicycle.’ Bill and Ben were staring at him: arms extended hopelessly outward, shouting out any words they could think of.  
  
“Time!” Richie called, smugly. The tally of points was honestly embarrassing, and Stan threw up his hands and sighed.

Stan audibly groaned, the tail end of which sounded like a borderline growl.

Richie was looking incredibly supercilious, leering at Stan as he smoothed a hand over his short black hair. “Told’ja, you blow at charades. You can’t logic your way out of it.”

“Whatever!” He snipped, flopping down on the couch next to Ben. “What the fuck ever.”

Ben put a consoling hand on the man’s shoulder, assuring him that it was okay; it was just a game, and he and Bill were none the more disappointed for it. This only seemed to make Stan angrier. Stan and Richie might have been best friends, but they were fiercely competitive. Okay, Stan and Eddie were the competitive ones; while Richie was just along for the ride, taking his rightful place cat-calling from the peanut gallery.

They let Stan pick the movie they were all going to watch, and initially the man refused, saying he didn’t want anyone’s pity prize. He then changed his mind, deciding on Footloose; not because he liked it, but specifically because it was one of Richie’s least favorite movies of all time. 

The group was moved to the living room for the better T.V. and more comfortable couches. The model in the basement didn’t have a VCR, and you had to hit the top to make the screen adjust.

Richie had collected the blankets and pillows from all over the house, throwing everything carelessly in the middle of the room. It was a free-for-all; everyone grabbing what they wanted, and setting up their usual nests. Richie and Eddie would be sleeping upstairs; a fact that made Richie both excited, and incredibly nervous. They had been stealing glances all night, and Eddie seemed to be absolutely over the moon. Something was going to happen.

Stan brandished the VHS of Footloose and Richie groaned loudly, throwing his head back and scrunching up his face in distaste. “Gah-bage.” Hissed the voice of a Long-Island mother. “I’d rathah get a pap-smeah.”  
  
Eddie had settled himself on the loveseat, and Richie, despite being near over six foot, curled up into the smallest ball he could manage and rested his head in his boyfriend’s lap. He hummed appreciatively when he felt nimble fingers card through his hair and practically swooned upon feeling blunt nails across his scalp.  
  
Before he knew it, Richie was jolting awake at nearly midnight, trying to take in his blurry surroundings before realizing Eddie must have taken his glasses off for him. Head scratches were the kiss of death, and almost always rendered Richie utterly useless.  
  
“Hey…” Came a whisper from above him. Eddie was looking down at him, and he looked like he might be smiling.  
  
“Hey.” Richie replied, voice hoarse from his rough wake up and unexpected cat nap. That cat nap was nearly two hours long. The movie was over and the living room glowed blue from the idle television.

“Looks like I missed it.” He tsked: accepting his glasses from Eddie and pushing them onto his face. “What a shame.”  
  
Eddie chortled softly and leaned in, cupping Richie’s chin without provocation and swooped in to kiss him.  
  
“Mm.” Richie hummed happily, chasing the man with his mouth when he pulled away.  
  
“Wanna go upstairs?” Eddie whispered, placing his hand over Richie’s and guiding them both to their feet. The others slept in various forms of disarray around them and Richie nodded eagerly at the suggestion. _I knew something was gonna happen!_ He mentally cheered.

The giddy feeling started to vanish as they climbed the stairs. Richie’s heart felt like it was going to jump out of his throat. Sure, they had fooled around, they had fooled around quite a bit, but this felt different. This felt like Eddie had something new in mind, something they hadn’t done yet. To say this didn’t thrill Richie would be a lie, but his nerves were working him up something awful. _Oh my god, something is going to happen._

The door to Richie’s bedroom clicked shut behind them, and the taller man turned to face Eddie, gulping in a quick breath and swallowing his doubt.  
  
“I, uh…” Eddie began to speak, his cheeks turning impossibly pink in a matter of seconds. “I’m gonna take off my clothes…” He said, looking to Richie and running his fingers under the hem of his shirt. “I really want to see you, too.”  
  
Richie was in a trance, the way he nodded slowly, blue-piercing eyes never leaving Eddie’s as they undressed, peeling off one article of clothing at a time.

It was agonizingly slow going, and eventually they were both down to just their underwear. Richie realized very suddenly that he felt self conscious in comparison to the man in front of him. Eddie was perfect; and Richie’s mouth was quickly going dry. His boyfriend was small in frame, but beautifully tanned, barely visible blondish hairs trailing down from his naval. His eyes big and hazel gray, scanned over Richie, half-lidded and glassy. Richie knew that he was incredibly pale, and sinewy. He noticed his own lack of muscles; the dark course hair started at his chest and went down practically in a straight line. His legs were hairy too. Whenever the group would go to the quarry, Richie would be the first to poke fun at himself before anyone else could, comparing himself unfavorably to _I Was a Teenage Werewolf._

They didn’t speak for a minute or two and Richie was becoming wearier by the second. _Eddie is undeniably gorgeous and probably likes guys with muscles, not your stick-bug lookin’ ass._ Richie’s mind jeered. He was half tempted to cover himself with his hands, and then Eddie broke the silence.  
  
“Wow, Rich.” Eddie breathed out.  
  
_“Wow?”_ Richie repeated. “What do you mean w-…ah.” Richie looked to the ground and shook his head, laughing softly and looking back to meet his boyfriend’s impish smiling face. “Okay, I get how bad that sounds now…”  
  
The smaller man stepped toward him, and took Richie’s large hands in his own. “You’re…beautiful.” He said, slowly, looking into Richie’s eyes like he was challenging Richie to try and detect a lie that wasn’t there. 

“Wha-“ Richie blustered, face hot and heart fluttering. He hadn’t been told that before. “No, you.” He answered, almost defiantly, and Eddie lifted himself up on his toes, brushing his mouth over Richie’s and ghosting his fingers over the hem of the man’s underwear.  
  
“No, _you_.” Eddie teased, pulling away and snapping the elastic as he went. “Drop ‘em.” It was a command, but his tone was soft and lilted with anticipation.

The tension in the space between them was thick, and Richie let out a slow breath before hooking his thumbs under the band and sliding the material off his hips and down his legs. He kicked the briefs away and stood there, shivering slightly

He watched Eddie’s eyes move over him, fluidly, like he was taking in every single detail: every freckle. They lowered down at waist level and soon became wide.

“You know-“ Eddie exhaled, cheeks flushed pink and burning. “I always thought you were joking about…you know…”  
  
“Why would I joke about that?” Richie said, suddenly snapped from his momentary lapse in brain function. “I’m skinny, hairy, and blind. This is like, the one thing I got going for me.” Richie was smiling wryly, but Eddie looked thrown.  
  
“You’re crazy.” Eddie said simply, approaching Richie again, this time taking the man’s face in his hands. “You’ve got everything going for you, I wish you saw that.” It was an unnaturally naked (literally) conversation. Eddie and Richie were masters of ill-timed jokes when topics turned serious, witty banter, and a slew of comebacks at their immediate disposal. This was Eddie being vulnerable.

“Yeah, well I think you’re perfect.” _I know that sounds like a joke, but I hope he knows I mean it._  
  
“It’s not a competition.” Eddie smirked, kissing his boyfriend again; sliding off his own briefs while Richie’s eyes were still closed. _I think he knows I mean it._

Sooty black eyelashes fluttered open and Richie looked down in between them. He felt like his heart was going to stop.  
  
“ _Oh_ , o-kay.” Richie’s voice broke a hair upon speaking and Eddie covered his own face with his hands, mumbling something Richie couldn’t catch, but it didn’t matter. “That’s it.”

* * *

Before Eddie could reiterate; he was being hoisted up by the thighs, just under his ass, legs hooked around Richie’s back and walked over to the bed. He let out a feeble little yelp and hit the bed with an “Oof” upon being let go.  
  
Richie was on him immediately, mouth pressing onto his lips, neck, chest; hands grasping at any piece of flesh he could reach. Eddie felt incredibly light and dizzy with arousal. He had made up his mind earlier that night about going further with Richie than they had gone before. It had startled him when the notion arose; but the more he thought, the more everything seemed to make sense.  
  
He wasn’t at home; his mother would never be able to ruin this. His friends all knew; he and Richie weren’t hiding anything. First times were supposed to be special, with people you love. Richie was special to Eddie…and fuck it, Eddie loved him; was in love with him. Of course this was the next step, _of course._

 _“Dangerous.”_ His brain supplied, sounding an awful lot like his mother, and a raspy…curdled sounding voice he didn’t quite recognize. “ _Sex is dangerous, Eddie.”_ No. Eddie was not going to check out in the middle of this. He yanked Richie’s face up to meet his and pressed their lips together, full force, sliding his tongue into the other man’s mouth; feeling proud when he elicited a moan.  
  
_“HIV…”_ The phantom voice croaked again. Eddie was trying as hard as he could to push the ill thoughts away. His legs still hooked around Richie’s waist, he gave an experimental thrust up, slotting their hips together. The sensation cleared his brain for one wonderful moment. _There’s no way either of us have HIV._ He rationalized.

The most Richie had ever done was make-out with a few people and get an unsatisfying hand job at the pool last summer. Eddie knew that. That made him feel calm; and he eased back into Richie’s touch.  
  
This was better, much better. That’s all he needed; just that one quick mental pep-talk. Whatever he was thinking, whatever he was feeling was being rapidly replaced with lovesick tunnel vision of _Richie, Richie, Richie…_

Richie was all tongue and teeth, gliding down the side of Eddie’s jaw, licking up the shell of his ear, nipping down the sensitive skin on his throat. A hand was down between his legs, running a thumb over the head of his dick.

Eddie hissed and took in a sharp rush of air; exhaling slowly into quiet moans as Richie’s hand stroked him at a steady pace. He cursed himself for the sounds that escaped him, but Richie seemed bound and determined to hear more.

Everywhere Richie kissed was raising gooseflesh and Eddie shivered, teeth clicking together in protest.  
  
“Cold?” Richie asked, coming up from leaving an angry, red hickey right next to Eddie’s left nipple.  
  
“A little.” Eddie admitted, warmed and comforted when the taller man lifted the discarded comforter over top of them. Richie kissed him on the nose, then again on the lips, sucking Eddie’s bottom lip into his mouth.  
  
The grip on his cock was released, and Eddie whined at its absence. He ran his fingers through Richie’s hair, tugging a tad aggressively and becoming excited upon hearing the man groan.

“Fuck, Eds…” He rasped; forming their lips in another heated kiss before his shaggy head disappeared beneath the covers. His dark, thick hair tickled Eddie’s stomach on the way down. Lips kissed his sternum, and his ribs, his belly button, until finally…  
  
“What are you-oh… _my god…”_ The immediate all encompassing warmth sent a shiver down Eddie’s spine, and made his toes curl. Hands shot down under the comforter and griped onto Richie’s head again: the man making a muffled sound of gratification with his mouth around Eddie.

Eddie screwed his eyes shut and pulled the man’s hair again, but his hands fell limp the more Richie progressed. The noises he was making; the slurping, it was absolutely filthy, and Eddie hated it; _loved it-hated it…fucking loved it.  
_

_“I’ll blow you for a quarter…”_

_What?_ Eddie eyes snapped open, and looked wildly around, trying to figure out where he was.

 _That voice, that fucking voice!_ The one from his nightmares, the one from Neibolt, the hobo with _the syph_ as Richie and Bill had called it, the _leper._  
  
“Bobby Gray does it for free…” It sounded close, it sounded right there… 

“What?” He wrenched the covers off his lower half, expecting to see the figure from his nightmares, crusted with yellow puke and bile, nose red and dripping from the open crater…

“What?” Richie had pulled away with a _pop,_ startled and squinting up at Eddie’s face, panting, and unsure of what was happening. “You okay, Eds?” He couldn’t see the horror on Eddie’s face without his glasses, but his voice was laced with concern.

The tightness in his throat was threatening to ruin everything, and he cleared it a few times, trying to seem nonchalant, hoping that for once Richie wasn’t observant; tuned into whenever Eddie was having an “episode.”  
  
“F-ine.” But he didn’t sound fine. His voice had come out in barely a whisper, high and ragged.

“Whoa, whoa, Eddie…” Riche was searching the space on either side of him for his glasses, but they must have gotten tossed off the bed with the comforter. He pawed blindly for his boyfriend, coming into contact with an arm, and wrapping his lanky body around the man’s now shaking frame. “Hey, what’s up, talk to me.”  
  
Richie was real, and _there_ …solid. His hair smelled like his usual shampoo, and his breath smelled like weed, but it was so _nice_. It was him. There was no denying it was him. They were in Richie’s room, on his bed. The clock was ticking outside in the hallway, their friends were sleeping just down the stairs. He was safe.

Eddie’s heart had gone from nearly bursting form his chest, to an even, rapidly decreasing _thump_ as Richie soothed him with his words, and caressed the hair on the back of his neck.

“Nothing.” Eddie lied, shaking his head of the _memory?_ “Just…thinking too much.”

“We can stop?” Richie offered, leaving a few soft pecks on Eddie’s temple, still sounding concerned. 

 _No, goddamnit._ Eddie’s mind urged, taking back control from the fucked up fever dream his mind was trying to destroy him with. None of that was real; it was all in his mind. _Only in my mind._

“No, Rich.” Eddie insisted, taking one of the man’s hands in his and placing it on the side of his cheek. “I want this. I want you.”

 _Whoa, that was a lot._ Before he had a chance to be embarrassed and back track, Richie was kissing him again, sweeter, less fevered than before. He was taking his time, easing Eddie back into the swing of things, as it were. _You’re safe with him._

* * *

“Are you sure?” Richie wasn’t entirely convinced Eddie’s lapse from reality was really “nothing” but he also didn’t want to tell Eddie how he should feel. 

Richie couldn’t help but feel like he had done something wrong, but Eddie would have told him. _Right?_ He had never given head before, but judging from the sounds Eddie was making, he must have been doing at least an _okay_ job. If any of this was too much, he wanted Eddie to tell him. This was fucking amazing, and Richie wanted it more than anything, but it wasn’t worth a damn if Eddie wasn’t comfortable.

“But…” Eddie had placed a hand on Richie’s chest and leaned into him, breath feather soft of the side of his neck. “Can I…do something for you?”

 _Anything. Everything._ “I’m all yours.” _Whoa, that was a lot._ Richie mentally chided himself, softening only when Eddie let out a little hum and kissed him.  
  
“Yeah?”

“Goddamn right.”

Eddie snickered softly, and Richie felt himself melt where he sat. He’d take Eddie any way he could get him; in bed or out of it, it didn’t matter.

Richie was set up in the familiar sitting position, back resting against the wall; but instead of Eddie straddling his lap, the man was settling himself between Richie’s thighs.

“Uhm…” Eddie was blushing again, looking first down at Richie’s cock, and then up at Richie’s, no doubt, dazed face. “Let me know if I suck at this, and I’ll stop.”

“Isn’t sucking kind of the point? Jesus, I’m sorry…” He was nervous, so fucking nervous and he wanted to crawl into the nearest hole; but Eddie only laughed, genuinely. 

“Since when do you apologize for a sex joke?” The smaller man gripped Richie’s dick in his hand again; Richie twitched involuntarily and gulped, clouded eyes trained on Eddie’s form in fixed concentration. “Just uh, don’t come in my mouth…please.” 

_I wish I had my fucking glasses._

Years of dry swallowing pills had certainly seemed to work out in Eddie’s favor when it came to giving blow jobs, because _holy fucking shit._

After a few experimental licks, and a closed mouth swirling of the tongue, and Richie had his head thrown back with a hand covering his open mouth.

“Fuu-mmm….” The noises only seemed to goad Eddie on further, and with every bob of his head, he took a little bit more into his mouth. Richie was fisting the sheets with one hand, the other detaching from his mouth and searching desperately for purchase. He wanted to put it through Eddie’s hair like the man had done to him earlier, but he didn’t want to be too forceful. He knew himself, if he grabbed a hank of Eddie’s hair he’d most certainly push down and try to face-fuck him, and that would just be a dick move.

He couldn’t see anything clear aside from Eddie’s fuzzy outline, stroking the parts of him that didn’t fit in his mouth, and Richie became aware with increasing clarity that he was as good as done for. As per Eddie’s request, he tapped urgently on the man’s shoulders.

Eddie pulled away and let go completely. Richie could have cried at the loss of contact, but he watched Eddie’s body slip off the side of the bed and rummage around on the ground, before coming back. Richie’s world came into focus; as his glasses were being pushed onto his face.  
  
“Rich…” Eddie all but whispered, kneeling on the bed and straddling Richie’s lap. “You wanna have sex?”

“What?” Richie all but choked on his own saliva, and his eyes snapped to Eddie’s, wide and full of wonder. “You…you fuckin’ serious?” His heart was beating a mile a minute; he was relatively certain that if he looked down, he would be able to see the it threatening to burst out of his chest like in _Alien_.

“I think so.” Eddie had his arms hooked around Richie’s neck, biting his bottom lip looking like he was towing the line between having no idea, and being absolutely sure.

“No-“ He shook his sandy brown hair out of his eyes and nodded. “I know so. Yes.”

Richie stared at the man for a moment longer, head tilted to the side. “I’m getting mixed messages, do you-“  
  
Eddie grabbed Richie’s face in his hands and ran a thumb over his high cheekbone. His eyes looked stormy illuminated by only the lamp light, and his lips curled into a coy, but assured smile.

“Yes.” He whispered.

* * *

 


	15. AUTHORS NOTE 2

Okay! I’m sure this is going to disappoint a lot of you as this is just a note from lil ole me and not a chapter update, but I feel you guys deserve an explanation.

I am still writing this. I repeat, I am STILL WRITING THIS FIC. It’s not cancelled, it’s not forgotten. I’m just insanely busy. 

Since January my girlfriend and I got engaged. Mortuary school started back up again. I’m also acting manager at work, so that’s taking up a crazy amount of time. 

Since it’s my birthday tomorrow, I’m gonna do whatever the hell I want, and what I want is to write as much as humanly possible. 

I love you all, your support, your kind words, and most of all your patience. I know ya’ll are itching for a new chapter and I feel AWFUL that I left it at such a cliff hanger, but I swear it’s not over. It’s just been a very long break. 

I hope everyone has a good weekend, and the next update will be a new chapter! 

\- Kat

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to hear your thoughts.
> 
> ye ole' side blog:https://loneredballoon.tumblr.com


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